#Someone asked about the paintbrush ONCE and I tried to be vague about it - that Noir didn't FIND any side effects... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kieraelieson · 4 years ago

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Three Times Patton Got Lost in a Market

Thomas was walking through the old store with his mom, careful to hold her hand while they shopped.

“Oh, look! There’s a wind chime! It’s just like the nice neighbor lady!” Patton said.

Thomas stopped to look, and his mom stopped too, looking at something else across the aisle.

“It isn’t exactly the same,” Logan said. “Hers has a hummingbird on top, but this one has a butterfly.”

“And anyway, this one has prettier colors when the light hits it,” Roman added.

“Oooh, the red really is pretty, Roman!” Patton said excitedly. “And the purple, and the yellow!”

“It’s exactly the colors of the most beautiful rainbow reflecting back from a pot of gold,” Roman said dreamily.

“Mom!” Virgil suddenly shrieked, alerting them all to the fact that Thomas’s mom was no longer beside them.

Instantly, there was a pandemonium of overlapping voices, all very confusing, and Virgil at the front screaming.

“Quiet!” Patton yelled, as loud as he could, and then felt a little like crying. He didn’t like yelling, but this was important!

“But we have to find Mom!”

“We should run after her!”

“If we yell someone will hear!”

“Listen to me!” Patton yelled again. “Remember what Mom said? If we get lost in the store we stay put, and if we see an employee then we ask them to call mom for us.”

Virgil bit down hard on his sleeves, and Patton took his silence for agreement.

“That is indeed what Thomas was told,” Logan admitted.

“I still think we should go find her!” Roman protested, though less pointedly than before.

Thomas plopped down on the floor.

“Ok. That settles it, we’re waiting for mom,” Patton said. “Let’s look for more pretty things while she comes to get us. Roman, what else can you see around us that looks like a rainbow?”

Roman grumpily crossed his arms. “There’s a rainbow on the lawn decoration.”

“Very good!” Patton said. “Logan, can you see anything that’s science-accurate?”

“Science-accurate is a very vague phrase, but I suppose you could be intending to direct me to the collection of decorative barometers.”

“Oooh~ yes, the water swan neck thingies~” Roman said.

Logan launched into an explanation of barometers, most of which Patton didn’t understand.

He checked on Virgil, who was scanning the aisle they were in over and over again, and chewing holes in his poor sleeves.

“She’ll be here in just a minute, don’t worry,” Patton said gently.

Virgil nodded slightly, but didn’t stop checking the ends of the aisle and staring down each person that passed.

And then his eyes went wide. Patton turned to look.

“Mom!”

“Thomas, I thought I lost you for a minute there! Stay close, ok?”

Thomas took his mother’s hand and nodded.

Patton let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t lost anymore.

••^*^••

Thomas was a bit worried about high school, and especially the test coming up, and Logan and Virgil were mostly helping him with that. But now he had to go to the store for groceries. And Roman was exhausted after being all excited over the play and was sound asleep.

So Patton was helping shop!

He smiled confidently, prompting Thomas to look at the list again. He needed to get the ingredients for tacos, and some bread, milk, eggs, and ice cream. Yum!

Now what all went into tacos?

There was meat, and sour cream, and little shredded lettuce, and cheese, and taco shells, or was he supposed to get soft tortillas?

Patton considered, wandering into the store towards the food. Maybe both? Yeah. Both. Oh! And there was the bread! That would probably have tortillas near it!

Patton hummed happily, finding the bread that looked the same as what mom had been getting, noting the brand name. Nature’s Own. Huh.

Now tortillas… what kind did they normally get?

He finally just picked the one that had blue on the label.

Virgil popped up, startling him for a moment, especially with his intense frown. “People are staring. We’re taking too long near the bread, and your humming is gonna make people think Thomas is weird.”

“Oh, it’s alright!” Patton said cheerfully, glad he hadn’t dropped the tortillas. “I didn’t get in anyone’s way, and they haven’t said anything yet about thinking Thomas is weird.”

“Yeah…” Virgil glared at the people milling around and shopping. “Well they could. Just… keep it quiet.”

“Will do!” Patton grinned, and Virgil sunk back out.

Next he had to find… well, next he had to find the next thing. Should he keep walking and hope to see them, or should he seek each one out? He’d stumbled upon the bread, surely he would stumble across the rest.

Patton hummed happily and kept walking, skipping along beside the cart as Thomas pushed it. Thomas must really be out of it, poor guy. But Patton could help him cheer up!

Pretty soon, they had almost everything! Except for taco seasoning. And Patton wasn’t sure if they were supposed to get the kind that was in packets, or the actual spices. And he also wasn’t sure whether he should look in the spices area or the Mexican food area. Or where those areas were.

Surely they’d passed those special Mexican drinks a while back. But where?

Patton encouraged Thomas to turn around and go back, but after several aisles he still couldn’t find anything he was looking for. He turned back around, and then again.

“Perhaps… I need to go from one end all the way to the other…”

Virgil popped up again, rather grumpy looking, but not as much as earlier. “That’s gonna take too long. We’re already late, and Mom is gonna need Thomas home son so she can make dinner.”

Patton sighed. “Ok. Logan, help please, I’m lost.”

Logan popped up, looked around, and then pointed. “That aisle.”

“But how do you know?” Patton asked.

“There’s a sign above it.”

Patton looked up. “Oh. Yeah.” He chuckled. “I should’ve thought to look for signs. Thanks, Logan!”

“You’re welcome. However I do suggest we attempt to make our trip home expedient. I’ll need Virgil’s full attention and assistance to prepare adequately for the test.”

“Will do!” Patton said, already spurring Thomas towards the aisle.

••^*^••

“I have created the ultimate maze!” Roman said excitedly. “It is called Infinite IKEA!”

Patton clapped excitedly, and even Logan gave a single clap.

“I really don’t see the point—“

“The point is a race, Emo Nightmare, and the winner gets to pick which old reruns Thomas watches tonight.”

Virgil tried to pretend he was still disinterested, but Patton could tell he was excited. “So what would we have to do to win the race?”

Roman grinned. “I’ve hidden a copy of each of our logos in the store somewhere, except for mine, which Logan hid by sinking in and placing it in a random place, so he doesn’t know the layout of the store yet. You have to find your own logo, and then exit the store!”

Oh, so that was why Logan had a bump on his head. He’d probably tried to rise up too close to a shelf. Ouch.

“Everybody ready! Set! Go!”

They all rushed into the store. Patton looked around excitedly, getting more excited to see that the store was full of items that came from houses where Thomas had lived or visited. He ran to the section of beds and flopped onto the biggest one.

He let out a comfy sigh, looking up at the roof which, rather than being metal supports and too-bright lights, was intricately painted with something that glowed.

It was amazing.

“You did a really great job, Roman,” Patton said, even though Roman was probably running ahead to win the race— oh! This was a race!

He jumped up and started walking, looking around for his heart with glasses.

After the bed section, where he wished he could stay and flip onto each one, he wandered into the lamps and chandeliers section. That was beautiful. He was still dazzled and in awe walking out. It even had that massive one Thomas had seen in the one hotel once.

And then came books, where Logan was!

“Hi, Logan!”

“Ah, greetings Patton.” Logan was looking through the books, just as captivated as Patton had been by the beds.

“Find your logo yet?”

“Not yet. I’m not overly concerned with winning, and Roman has certainly made this an interesting place to browse.”

“Mhmm!” Patton looked around. “Where are the kids books, I want to see if the Winnie the Pooh book is still chewed on or if Roman made it brand new.”

“That way, two shelves down,” Logan said, rather distracted by a book he’d picked off of the shelf.

“Thank you!”

Patton found the children’s section, and then found the book. It was still chewed on the corners. He smiled, and flipped through the thick cardboard pages. Thomas had loved this book.

And then, when he opened the last page, his logo fell out.

“Awww, look!” He picked it up, and found that it was a sticker. He promptly stuck the sticker to his chest and put the book back. Now all he had to do was find his way out!

He wandered into the next section, which was all dark and purples and blues and blacks and everything cozily packed together.

There was even a sign warning him away from certain aisles, because there would be spiders, and Patton was very glad Roman had thought of that.

And then he remembered the sunglasses stand sitting at the beginning of the lights aisle. That was probably for Virgil. Roman had been so thoughtful in building this! Patton hoped Roman would win. He certainly deserved the prize after putting all this together.

There was a whole section of Disney, all the movies, and posters, and any Disney themed toys and figurines, and even cardboard cut outs! It was lovely and chaotic and colorful, and it bridged Virgil’s section with Roman’s very well.

Roman had every single picture Thomas had ever seen, which was so many pictures!! Patton looked in awe until he realized that the paintbrushes weren’t just for show, some of them had been used. There was a little black cat in the corner of one painting, and a little V, and the paintbrush was in a cup of black water.

Patton found a picture of a field of flowers, and picked up the paintbrush, dabbing a bit of pink onto the picture. It turned instead into exactly the kind of flower Patton had been envisioning! He smiled wide and painted another, and another, and another, and each one turned out beautiful!

He ran to another painting and gave a little boy in the background a balloon and a smile. And then he gave the lady sitting in a rocking chair a baby to hold.

He finally had to stop himself. He could stay here forever, but he probably should get to the end of the store so he wouldn’t worry the others.

He got to the end of Roman’s section, only to find a massive blanket fort. He kept himself from exploring, and passed through, coming out at… the beds again?

Ohhhhh, right. It was a race and a maze.

Patton flopped down on the bed Thomas had grown up with, wrapping up in the blanket. He let out a happy sigh.

“Logan! Roman! Virgil! I’m lost! But I’m also gonna stay lost!”

Roman rose up and leaned against the footboard, a pleased smile on his face. “Enjoying the store?”

“I’m loving it!” Patton said happily, sitting up. “You did a really good job!”

Roman glowed. “I guess I’ll have to leave it up for you to wander in then. Once Virgil finds the exit I’ll put it somewhere more obvious so you can get out once you’re done.”

“Oh, did you and Logan already get out? Who won?”

“Logan, but only by a few minutes. He hid my logo in a hard place! How was I supposed to guess he’d put it under the makeup stash?”

Patton chuckled. “Wait, I didn’t see that.”

“It’s in Virgil’s section, in one of the spider aisles. I can un-spider it for you if you want.”

“Well, let Virgil have his fun first, but I’d really like that.” Patton smiled. He could have fun in here for a long time. “You did an amazing job with the paintings too! I loved those!”

Roman puffed up happily. “I did, didn’t I?”

There was a distant, triumphant, “Ha! I made it! Wait, Princey beat me? Aww.”

Patton giggled.

Roman patted his shoulder. “Have fun.”

“I will!” Patton said happily, eyeing the blanket fort which he now had time to explore.

—————

If you enjoyed, please reblog! And consider supporting me as I try to make a living off of writing 😊

#my own work #sanders sides #sanders sides spoilers #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders

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jaskierek · 4 years ago

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Wildflowers

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier had been friends for over two decades before Geralt forced them apart. Afterwards, he’d looked everywhere. The bard was nowhere to be found. Not even magic could find him. What had happened to his friend? ao3

Eight years into their partnership, Geralt was commissioned to rid a village of a nasty foglet that had taken up residency in a swamp at the centre of the neighbouring forest. The blacksmith, Filip, lived closest to the forest edge and had three young daughters who he feared for. He had collected money from the villagers in order to afford the Witcher’s services and had insisted on showing Geralt the way. He’d said the forest had many low-lying bogs and marshes, especially during this time of year.

Jaskier had been eager to join the Witcher, despite knowing that his outfit would return ruined, yet he’d been relegated to the role of babysitter.

“Come on, Geralt!” He whined, watching the Witcher swing his swords onto his back and collect the moondust he needed.

“No.” Came the simple response. Jaskier huffed.

“Honestly, why can’t Filip hire someone from the village for a night or leave the kids on their own? It’s not like they’re infants, and there’s three of them for goodness’ sake.”

“All of them have yet to reach the age of ten,” Geralt said in that rumbling voice of his as he walked up to the bard, gear on and a vaguely scolding look on his face, “and why hire someone to babysit when we’ve got a lovely and willing nanny here for free?”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped dramatically and he sputtered, trying to get past the offence and form a coherent sentence in response to Geralt’s shit-eating grin.

“You - I - listen here, Witcher - while I am lovely, there is no - how -“

The Witcher simply patted Jaskier on the head a bit harder than necessary, and stepped out of the room Filip had given them to get prepared.

“Ready?” The blacksmith asked. He stood in the doorway dressed in a thick, wool coat, hood over his head and straw-blonde hair peeking out from under his coif. He held a glass lantern in one hand and a sturdy, steel sword in another.

“You won’t need that.” Geralt grumbled, walking towards the man. Filip took what Jaskier knew to be an involuntary step back. The bard still winced. There was still a ways to go in Geralt’s image rehabilitation he was learning.

“I could help.” Filip countered weakly. Jaskier admired the man’s bravery, most tended to let the Witcher do what needed to be done with no care for his return or survival. Jaskier also didn’t doubt that Filip could have been of help. The man stood tall, with rounded shoulders from years of smithing, the thick coat only making him look bigger. He could definitely have been of help if-

“Silver swords kill beasts, your steel won’t do much harm.” Geralt said, walking past and heading to the door. “Better to just stay out of the way.”

Filip paused for a moment.

“Yes, well, I think I’d like to take it. For my own peace of mind.”

Geralt studied the man over his shoulder before seemingly accepting that there was not much else to say on the subject and the two left. Jaskier tapped his foot uncertainly before running to the door and swinging it open.

“Oi! Witcher! I am very much not willing and this is very much not for free! I am expecting compensation!” He yelled out to the shrinking figures.

“Fuck off, Jaskier.” Jaskier could just make out Geralt’s gruff but amused reply through the whipping of the wind. He smiled and returned inside, only to be faced with three pairs of large brown eyes. Startled a little, he smiled tentatively. Unlike their father, all three girls had reddish-brown hair and gentle features.

“You must be Filip’s daughters.” He said in way of greeting. He received an eerily unison blink. “Right uh…you should be in bed.”

“Where’s daddy gone?” The tallest one to the left asked.

“He…he went to go show his friend something.” Jaskier responded, trying not to worry the children.

“That man is a Witcher.”

Jaskier paused, not really knowing what to say and eventually settling on a slow “yes, he is.”

“Daddy’s not friends with Witchers.”

“Well, he is now.”

“But Witchers can’t have friends.”

“Now that’s just not true. Who told you that?” Jaskier asked, a bit peeved. They just blinked again and didn’t respond. “Ok, well, that’s not true because I’m friends with a Witcher.” He huffed, whether or not the friendship was mutual was still a bit in question for him.

The girls stared at him silently and Jaskier was honestly at a loss. He hadn’t had much experience with children, apart from singing the occasional fairy tale or nursery rhyme.

“Would you like me to play you a song?” He asked, fingers twitching to hold his lute.

“No.” They all said monotonously. Alright, really, were all children this difficult? And this…synchronised?

“You really should be going to bed then.”

“Can you paint?” The smallest one asked suddenly. Jaskier frowned at the question, a bit confused.

Thats how Geralt and Filip found him three hours later. Paints and unfinished artworks scattered around the floor and at the centre of it all, a very colourful bard. He sat on the floor, legs spread out as three auburn-haired little girls stood around him, paintbrushes in hand.

Filip laughed loudly. “I just bought them all paints and parchment two days ago.” He commented, taking his coat off.

“You don’t say.” Jaskier responded sarcastically as one of the girls poked at his temple with a green brush. He had rolled up his sleeves and trousers to give them some more space to work and also to avoid as much paint on his clothes as he could. It hadn’t worked very well as evidenced by the many drips and smears on his purple doublet. His face, arms and legs were covered in mostly yellow smudges, with a couple of green and pink accents here and there.

The girls hadn’t reacted much to their father’s return, nor to the intimidating presence of the Witcher. Speaking of, Geralt was currently leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking very entertained. Jaskier tried to communicate with his eyes that he was in dire need of aid, yet the cruel man did nothing but observe the multicoloured bard and the three little girls dancing around him.

“Ok, girls,” Filip said, coming over and kneeling beside them, gently removing a paintbrush from the youngest’s hand, “time to say goodbye and go to bed, hm?”

“Do you like our painting, daddy?” She asked, blinking those big brown eyes at him. They all looked very pleased with their work. Filip’s eyes looked over to Jaskier, giving him a once-over and smiling apologetically.

“Yes, love, it’s gorgeous as always. Now bed?” He tried again, reaching out to the others. Jaskier didn’t know how happy he was at being called an “it” but decided to hold his tongue for now. The brushes were all handed over. They themselves were smeared with paint as well, nowhere near as much as the bard though. He was more canvas than a bard at this point.

Filip told Geralt and Jaskier that he’d wash the girls - and their sheets - tomorrow and that they could have the bath for tonight, both men in desperate need of a wash.

Geralt, in a rare show of mercy, allowed Jaskier to go first. He sat by the wall, listening to the bard complain about how difficult the paint was to scrub off. He couldn’t help but let out an amused huff occasionally, earning a sour look from the bard.

“Oh, how you revel in my misery.” He muttered. Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Now we know that you’re not cut out to be a nanny after all.” Geralt teased.

“All things considered, I think I did an alright job.”

“Jaskier, you’re yellow.”

Being glared at by a wet bard sitting in yellow water was not the most intimidated the Witcher had ever been.

Not long after, Jaskier stepped out of the wooden bath and Geralt stepped in.

The Witcher melted into the tub as Jaskier’s nimble fingers threaded through his hair. Albeit, a bit rougher than usual. He had started using his own soaps and oils on Geralt, leaving his hair soft and shiny. He could tell Geralt liked it, despite his complaints that it left him smelling like rose water and cloves. It was a pleasant scent though.

“Why’d they paint you yellow?” Geralt asked placidly, eyes closed. Jaskier laughed softly.

“I told them what my name meant. I was meant to look like a field of buttercups, I presume.” He replied fondly. Geralt hummed. They bathed in silence for a while until Jaskier said softly; “the second eldest one is called Julia. She told me the name means strength.”

Geralt said nothing, sensing the bard’s mood had changed.

“I had a sister once.” Jaskier continued. Though surprised, Geralt made no comment. “Her name was Julia.” Silence fell again as Jaskier gently pushed Geralt’s shoulder. The Witcher moved at the pressure, allowing the bard to tilt his head back and rinse his hair off.

“Julka przed samotnością nie odczuwa lęku, bo to dziewczyna pełna wdzięku.” Jaskier said, more to himself than to the Witcher.

“What does it mean?”

“In the face of loneliness, Julka is not afraid,” Jaskier whispered, recalling the old saying, “because she is a girl full of grace.”

Geralt clenched his eyes tighter, not knowing what to say in the face of Jaskier’s gentle grief.

Geralt had stared down that same face of loneliness. Could he say that he’d confronted it fearlessly?

Jaskier ran his fingers through the Witcher’s hair one last time and gave it a hard tug.

“That’s for calling me a nanny again.” He remarked weakly. Geralt opened his eyes, watching Jaskier walk away and change into his night clothes.

The face of loneliness seemed to blur.

Filip allowed them to stay the night and they left early the next day. Geralt was prepping Roach when Filip’s three young girls ran up to him, the one in the middle holding a bag of coin. The blacksmith was crouched in the doorway, watching them with a small smile.

“This is for you.” The one in the centre said very seriously, handing over the payment with an air of importance. Not an ounce of fear showed on any of their faces. Geralt felt vague concern over their survival instincts.

“Er…thank you.” Geralt said awkwardly, taking the money. He was about to stuff it into Roach’s saddle before he thought better of it and placed it gently into his breast pocket, patting it to reassure the girl that he’d keep it safe. She smiled brightly at him and the three of them blinked at the same time. Geralt could only blink in return, not knowing where to go from there.

“Goodbye, Jaskier’s friend!” They announced and scurried off. Jaskier was just coming out of the house as they ran past, giggling. He jumped out of the way with a yelp, eyes following them bemusedly. Looking back to Geralt, he raised a brow. The Witcher simply shrugged. Jaskier laughed.

No, loneliness did not feel as present anymore.

—

Eleven years into their familiarity, Jaskier asked a question.

“I wonder what it feels like to die.”

Geralt had sensed his miserable mood all day. He’d been quiet and he hadn’t touched his lute or hummed a melody and strangest of all, he’d done what Geralt had told him. He’d stayed at the camp when Geralt had taken a contract to get rid of a wild boar and he’d collected firewood with no complaints when told.

Geralt sensed Jaskier’s unhappiness, he knew something was wrong, yet he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help. The very fact that he wanted to help, instead of revelling in the silence, came as a surprise. Jaskier’s statement was even more of a surprise. The casual way he said it jarred with the reality that this was the first thing Jaskier had said in hours.

They stared at each other from across the fire between them. Jaskier’s cornflower eyes lustreless and not expectant of an answer.

“I know what it feels like.” Geralt responded, own voice gruff from disuse. He could tell that he’d startled the bard. Jaskier’s blue eyes suddenly cleared and glinted with concern.

“How…how do you know what it feels like to die?” Jaskier asked and Geralt was surprised by the emotion behind his words.

“There are many ways to die, bard.”

Jaskier frowned.

“How do you know what it feels like to die, Geralt?” Jaskier pressed.

“I do not know what death feels like, but I am familiar with the journey.”

Geralt didn’t know whether he was skirting around the question on purpose. The initial response to Jaskier’s statement of a question had come unbidden and honest. Now he could feel heat under his skin and an urge to sneer and turn tail. He couldn’t do that though, not now, not with Jaskier as he’s been all day.

“Geralt, you-“

“Jaskier,” He cut him off, then stopped himself. He took a breath, “I can’t imagine a Witcher who isn’t familiar with the experience.” Jaskier shut his mouth and remained silent, an unspoken offer to continue. Geralt accepted the moment of quiet, taking the opportunity to arrange his thoughts and suppress the grief that had suddenly swelled in him.

“When boys were recruited to become Witchers, they underwent mutations that most did not survive.” Jaskier nodded, this Geralt had told him before, “They put elixirs, poisons and mutagens into our tea for days beforehand and when we were immobilised, they injected them directly into our veins. Most who did not die immediately, died by the third day. Those who did not die by the third day, went mad from the pain -“

Geralt stopped, hesitating, eyes drifting to the writhing flames between them.

He remembered their glassy eyes, unseeing. Nothing existed but their agony. They’d scream themselves hoarse, shredding vocal chords and vomiting out blood. He knew that he must’ve been the same but he could not remember anything he did while undergoing the mutations. Nothing existed, nothing mattered, but the torment.

Geralt looked back at Jaskier, who’s gaze remained strong and level, though sad.

“After we went mad with pain, they injected us again. We were all restrained, of course, otherwise we would have torn our skin off to find some relief. This round of mutagens induced seizures, hallucinations, and in our weakened state, our body had to fight the viruses. On the seventh day, three out of ten boys woke with cat eyes, the rest were dead.”

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment.

“I did not…I woke up with human eyes. The mutagens hadn’t worked on me to the extent they had worked on the others. I was uniquely resistant.” The words sounded bitter. “They gave me a couple of extra rounds and that’s why you won’t ever find another white wolf, bard.”

Jaskier remained silent. Geralt saw tears had slipped down his face, the reflection of the fire turning them gold. Geralt couldn’t stand the thought of tears being spilled for him but he stayed quiet, he found he had no more words to give.

“That’s not dying.” Jaskier finally said, voice unwavering through the tears. “That’s not dying. That’s torture. That’s something that no one should go through, let alone a child. You don’t know what it’s like to die, Geralt, and you won’t know for a long time to come.”

Geralt didn’t know who he was trying to convince.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“Jaskier,” The Witcher tried to make his tone gentle, “Witchers don’t retire. I know what it’s like to bleed out. That is likely my fate.” Jaskier flinched and looked down at his hands, clenched around each other, knuckles white. Golden tears slipped between his fingers.

“What does it feel like to bleed out?” He whispered so quietly that Geralt wouldn’t have heard him had he not been what he was. He frowned, but complied.

“You’re thirsty and your tongue feels swollen. Your vision becomes distorted and blurry. You feel a numbness as your head pounds with pressure. You can’t stand for long, so you’re left bleeding out on the ground, trembling and sweating, feeling like you’re going to vomit.” Jaskier’s shoulders were trembling. Geralt couldn’t stop. “You feel like you just want to rest your head forever.”

Finally, Jaskier broke, a sob breaking out past his lips, only for more to follow. It felt like the whole day had been building to this breaking point and Geralt itched to hold him. Let Jaskier release all that had been welling inside him. Geralt stayed, staring at him through the fire, sure that his own grief was showing.

“Geralt?” Came Jaskier’s small voice, head finally rising to look at Geralt. His eyes were red and tears fell freely.

“Yes?”

“Has this happened since we’ve met?”

A pause.

“Once.”

“You didn’t tell me.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, yet it sounded hurt.

Geralt suddenly felt guilty. He hadn’t thought it information that Jaskier needed, or wanted, to know. He’d clearly been healed and the next time they had run into each other had been months after the incident. Geralt himself hadn’t thought much of it. Yet now he felt guilty, it felt as if he had withheld something from the bard. He didn’t know why the thought of him keeping secrets from the man sparked a pain in his chest. He couldn’t stand to look at the hurt in those blue eyes so he looked away.

“I understand why you didn’t, Geralt, I don’t blame you…just - just please -“ the bard’s voice broke. He took a moment to breath in, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Please tell me, whether I’m around to help or not. I can’t - I can’t be a part of your life and not know. I -“

“Okay, I will.” Amber eyes locked with blue, reflecting the same flame. They gazed at each other for a time. Then, the bard rose on unsteady feet, rounding the fire and sitting beside the Witcher.

“I meant what I said. You won’t know death for a long time, dear friend. You will live for a good while yet.” He stated with no room for argument. Geralt couldn’t help but smile.

“Does destiny will it?”

“No,” said his friend, “I do.”

And so they sat for the rest of the evening. Golden eyes and golden tears.

��

Fourteen years into their friendship, there was a meadow.

It was spring and the meadow was blanketed by buttercups and dandelions and daisies and wild lupine. It was a messy quilt of colours that beckoned the bard forwards. The Witcher had taken notice of Jaskier’s love for spring, he’d taken note of a lot of things. He watched Jaskier run into the field, voice bubbling with laughter.

“Geralt look at this! It’s exquisite! We have to break here.” He was grinning at Geralt in his faded blue doublet. Geralt ached at that smile. He reluctantly agreed. How could he not?

That’s how they’d spent an all too rare afternoon lying on a sunny patch of grass. Geralt listening to the bard talk and hum, feeling the gentle heat from the sun-warmed ground seep in through his clothes, and when he opened his eyes he watched. He watched birds flit between trees and leaves shuffle in the breeze. He watched the bard blow a dandelion, blue eyes following the fluff as it glided through the air. Then those blue eyes turned to him and Jaskier smiled.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to learn, dear friend?” Suspecting another long Jaskier ramble, Geralt closed his eyes and hummed noncommittally. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to braid a flower garland.”

“Hmm, you don’t already know?” What with Jaskier’s love for spring, Geralt would have assumed that something as simple as making a flower crown would have easily found its way into the bard’s skill set.

“I suppose I’ve never had the opportunity.”

“Hm.” Geralt responded, mulling it over. They lapsed into a calm silence, well as much of a silence as one can get with a humming bard collecting flowers.

It was noon and the sun was overhead, its brightness filtering through his eyelids.

The humming stopped and he heard an excited “Geralt?”

“What, Jaskier?” He sighed.

“Teach me how to make a wreath.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, you grumpy Witcher.”

“No.”

“But just look at these beautiful blossoms, it’d be such a shame not to put them to use.”

“Flowers have no use to anyone other than bees. Unless you’ve found some verbena or white myrtle.”

“How cynical of you, I can hardly believe it.” Geralt snorted at that. “Flowers have many uses, some of which I will detail to you now.”

“Please don’t-”

“Flowers are used for beautiful arrangements, placed at the centre of dinner tables or on mantelpieces, for magnificent perfumes that attract even the most stoic, and they create the most darling garlands, of which I am dying to learn the craft and am imploring my dear friend to teach me.”

Geralt groaned and opened his eyes to glare at the bard who was grinning cheekily at him.

“You are a pain in my ass, bard.” He acquiesced, knowing that Jaskier would take it as the acceptance that it is.

Sitting upright, he saw that Jaskier had already collected a bundle of wildflowers. Cornflowers and daisies and a myriad of others lay between them as they sat crosslegged, facing each other. Geralt’s hand immediately drifted to the cornflower nearest to him.

“It’s easier when you have a circle of string to wrap the stems around,” Geralt began, glancing back up at the sun-lit blue eyes looking right back at him, “but we’ve no string to spare. So once you’ve picked your starting flower, you pick another and wrap the stem a way’s down the stem of your first. Then you pick a third and wrap it around the stems of the first two.”

“A bit like braiding.”

“More like weaving,” Geralt explained, already a couple of flowers down his chain, “and then you keep adding more.”

Quiet settled between them once more. Geralt looked up every so often to check the bard’s progress, watching his nimble fingers weave his crown of flowers, rarely faulting. His eyes would wander up to Jaskier’s face, the bard’s brows frowning in concentration. The Witcher allowed himself a small smile. Jaskier had once told Geralt to alert him whenever he’d do this, hating the thought of wrinkles between his brows. Geralt of course never did. After all, it wasn’t his job to look out for the bard’s skin when it wasn’t being threatened by beasts or cuckolded spouses.

Geralt finished his garland first, realising that it consisted mostly of blue cornflowers and yellow dandelions and buttercups, broken up occasionally by reds.

“Complementary colours.”

“Hm?” Geralt asked, looking up at the bard.

“Yellow and blue. They complement each other. Honestly, Geralt, it’s simple colour theory.”

Geralt levelled him an unamused look, sending him back to work. Not long after, he watched the finishings of Jaskier’s own crown. An eager gaze slid up to Geralt’s face, eyebrows raised suggestively.

“No.” Came Geralt’s instant response.

“Please Geralt.” Jaskier whined. “No one’s here, your reputation is safe.” Geralt grunted, scowling at the bard whose big, blue eyes were pleading with him. With a sigh he reluctantly agreed. How could he not?

Jaskier’s own wreath was more varied than Geralt’s, with white daisies and purple aster and multicoloured poppies. Geralt let Jaskier shuffle closer, raising himself up on his knees so he could crown his Witcher in blossoms. Geralt watched his delighted face as he arranged the flowers just right, fingers grazing and pushing back the Witcher’s white hair. Geralt resisted the urge to lean into the touch. The gentle hands fell to his shoulders, warm gaze falling to look into yellow eyes.

“I’d write a song about this, a Witcher in a flower crown, if I didn’t think it’d be very unpopular.”

Geralt growled, glaring up at him.

“Ah, yes, and also because you’d gut me on the spot.” Jaskier added on. “I must say though, you look very dashing.”

Geralt didn’t say anything to that. He continued to stare up at the bard, glad that the man was happy, and content to be in his presence in a rare moment of peace.

“Now, my dear, I must wear yours.” Jaskier said. Geralt blinked then looked down at the wreath in his hands. Jaskier sat back, awaiting his floral coronation. Geralt smiled softly as he placed the crown on Jaskier’s head. It was a bit big for the bard’s head and pushed his fringe further into his eyes as it slipped down his head slightly. Snorting, Geralt pushed the brown hair from Jaskier’s face, fingers brushing his cheek as he pulled back. He found himself longing to touch him again but pulled away at the look of wonder in the bard’s eyes.

Jaskier went on to make another garland for Roach, making a show of crowning her “Lady of the Meadowland”. It was all very ridiculous so Geralt closed his eyes again and lay back onto the sun-warmed grass. He heard Jaskier amble over, felt his presence as he lay beside him with a deep sigh.

Geralt cracked an eye open to look at him. His eyes were closed. The sun turned his brown hair bronze, blue and yellow petals resting there crookedly. Geralt couldn’t help but think that Jaskier belonged here.

He belonged among the sun and the wildflowers.

—

Sixteen years into whatever the fuck they were and Geralt had been hired to kill a Griffin.

Fucking griffins and their fucking talons.

Geralt felt the ground pull at him magnetically.

He’d lost a lot of blood.

He stumbled to the ground.

He would have been content to press his feverish face into the cool, damp grass and simply lay there, if it hadn’t been for a single thought in his head.

Jaskier.

“Please tell me, whether I’m around to help or not.”

Fuck.

He pushed himself up shakily, a stab of pain pierced through the pressure in his head. He tried blinking past the faded edges of his vision and the spots floating between the trees like black will o’ the wisps.

He stumbled forward, hands pressed to his stomach. They didn’t do much to stop the heavy flow of blood gushing out of him. His fingers were numb but the rest of him was warm, so warm. He had to make it back, he couldn’t die without seeing Jaskier one more time. He couldn’t die here alone.

The face of loneliness came into focus amidst the blurry forest.

Somehow he made it back to the camp. Jaskier’s back was to him. He was stroking Roach’s snout, singing to her softly. It was a lullaby Jaskier sang whenever either of them couldn’t sleep. Geralt smiled in relief, the pressure in is head lifting slightly at the familiar sound.

“Jaskier.” The bards name fell out of him like a breath. Finally, he let the ground pull him down.

He woke up again in rather large bed, head cushioned on a feather pillow. Looking around he saw a glass of water on the desk in the corner, a painting of a long-bearded, angry-looking man on the wall across from him and a silk sheet covering him up to his bare chest. He frowned. This was not the typical establishment he was accustomed to.

Shifting slightly, he felt a weight on his arm. Confused, he looked to the right to find a mess of brown hair resting on his bicep. Geralt blinked, eyes widening. Jaskier was clearly asleep, curled around his side, head on his arm and hand resting in Geralt’s loose fingers. The Witcher suddenly felt warm and couldn’t help but tighten his hand around the bard’s.

While closing his hand, he involuntarily closed his other one, feeling something hard and cool under his fingers. Lifting it to his face, he saw that it was actually a stone, vaguely triangular in shape, with a wonky hole in the middle. What was strangest however, were the smudgy yellow flowers that had been painted around the hole. He assumed they were flowers as he could just make out some petals and wobbly, green stems.

Putting the mystery aside for a moment, he placed the stone down on the bed beside him. Removing his covers gently so as not to wake Jaskier, Geralt felt along his bandaged belly. The pain wasn’t too bad, more of an ache than anything and that could’ve simply been from the blood loss.

He wondered where they were. Their camp hadn’t been too far from a town, but that meant that Jaskier had somehow lifted him onto Roach and galloped through the forest and into town in search of a healer. Geralt knew that the bard was strong, muscle lined his arms and legs, tightened his stomach when he stepped into cold water. Almost two decades of joining Geralt on the path had given him a rather large build. Nevertheless, a limp Witcher was no easy feat to lift, especially onto a horse.

He felt Jaskier stir beside him. His head was still towards him but he could tell he’d opened his eyes because he promptly covered the Witcher back up with the silk cover he’d peeled off earlier. Geralt shifted and suddenly big, blue eyes were looking up at him. From this angle, he could see that the bard’s feet had been hanging off the edge of the bed from his position on Geralt’s arm.

“Geralt!” He exclaimed, smiling brightly. “You’re awake.” Geralt gave a soft grunt in response. “How are you feeling?” Jaskier asked, sitting up. He realised he was still holding onto Jaskier’s hand, so he let it go reluctantly, allowing the bard to pull it out of his grip.

“Like I lost most of my blood.”

“Ha ha.” Jaskier said humourlessly. Geralt sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“Are you upset with me?” He asked finally. He knew Jaskier was upset but he didn’t know what kind of upset it was. Angry? Sad? Annoyed?

“I was,” Jaskier began. Geralt’s jaw tightened and Jaskier grasped his hand comfortingly. “But then I realised that I had no reason to be upset with you, I think my feelings of fear and concern got a bit muddled. Geralt, I was fucking terrified.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault, it was just…a lot.” Geralt winced and looked back to the bard. He was looking at their joined hands, blue eyes hazy and far away. Geralt didn’t know what he was seeing. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He gave Jaskier’s hand a tight squeeze, bringing him back. Jaskier smiled at him sheepishly.

“Were you surprised to wake up?” The bard asked. Geralt thought for a moment.

“No.”

“No?”

Geralt raised a brow, not entirely knowing what Jaskier wanted him to say. No, he wasn’t surprised. His only thought had been Jaskier. That he wanted to see him again. He wasn’t thinking much of being healed or waking later. Yet now that he thought about it, there wasn’t much doubt in him that Jaskier would help him in whatever way he could.

A thought came into Geralt’s mind.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising the painted stone. A blush tinged Jaskier’s cheeks pink.

“Ah…it’s a - it’s a hagstone.”

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I see that, why was it in my hand and why is it covered in flowers?”

“Well, if you don’t like it, I’ll take it back.” Jaskier said pettishly, reaching for it. Geralt pulled it out of his reach.

“No, I want it.” Geralt said, grinning. Jaskier dropped his hand and huffed, looking away.

“Remember when you left me to babysit those three girls a couple of years ago?”

Geralt blinked, vaguely recalling three sets off big brown eyes.

“They painted you yellow.”

“They painted buttercups, just…on me.”

“They painted you yellow.”

“Yes, okay, thank you.” Jaskier sighed, rolling his eyes. “The hagstone dropped out of my pocket and they…painted that too.” He smiled sheepishly.

That was nearly a decade ago. Geralt couldn’t believe he’d held onto it for that long. He pulled it closer so he could examine it genuinely. He could make out the smudgy, yellow petals attached to green stems. They were dotted around the stone, growing in a cluster. The yellow paint had remained fairly unfaded. Geralt rubbed his thumb over the stone.

“You can keep it if you want.” Jaskier said. Geralt turned to find him already looking at him, eyebrow raised and smiling. The look of sincerity on the bard’s face had Geralt looking away.

“Why did you put it in my hand?”

“They’re for protection and healing. Surely you know that.”

Geralt knew what they were for, theoretically. The protective powers of witch stones were a myth though, just humans placing undue importance on an unusual rock. In reality, it was just that. A rock. One that had been eroded by water or animals. Geralt didn’t say anything though.

He didn’t know if he could say anything. Jaskier had carried this stone with him for a decade, maybe more, hoping for protection and now he was giving it to him. A Witcher who, by all appearances, didn’t want nor need luck. The bottom line was that the bard wanted him safe and Geralt had absolutely no way of dealing with that.

“They’re also used to keep witches away,” Jaskier continued, “useful incase we ever cross paths with Yennefer again.”

Geralt snorted.

“She’s a sorceress.” He countered

“And I’m a musician. It doesn’t mean I’m not also a bard.” Jaskier sniffed disdainfully. He pushed himself up the bed so he was leaning against the headboard and sitting next to Geralt. He continued to talk, allowing the Witcher to simply listen and think about how close their hands were between them.

—

Twenty two years since they met.

The wind bit at him, seeking to push him off his feet as he looked down at the snarling Witcher.

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shovelling it?”

“That’s not fair.” He couldn’t help protesting weakly.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” Geralt gritted out between clenched teeth, amber eyes burning with emotion, he was practically shaking with it.

Jaskier stood and watched as the Witcher turned and stormed further away from him. Tension and aggression written into the way Geralt’s shoulders tensed, fists tight, arms loose, ready to attack. Jaskier had seen Geralt like this before, more times than he could count, but it had never been directed at him. No matter how many times he irritated the Witcher or inadvertently gotten them into trouble, Geralt never had more for him than a hard glare and some frustrated shouts.

This was different. This felt final. This felt like the end. The inevitable conclusion to his tragic love story because fuck him, he’d fallen in love with a man sworn to someone else.

“Right, uh,” Jaskier managed to get out, suddenly finding it difficult to breath, “right, then,” he tried again, looking away, eyes blinking rapidly, “I’ll - I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others.” He turned and walked away, his attempt at casualness flimsy and transparent.

While Geralt berated destiny, fought against it and ignored it wholeheartedly, Jaskier accepted his fate because he had always known it was coming.

But, damn, did it hurt.

He didn’t get the rest of the story.

He stuffed all of his belongings into a bag, slung his lute over his shoulder, gave Roach one last, teary-eyed hug and ran. Geralt had walked away from him, both physically and metaphorically, and now Jaskier needed as much space between them as possible. He ran down the mountain, tripping on uneven paths and scratching his hands bloody. The burn in his lungs and chest felt poetic.

In the last two decades of his life, he and Geralt had always found their way back to each other after weeks or months apart. Sure, he’d keep an ear out for news of a Witcher but most of the time, Melitele save him, it had been a gods-honest accident. The romantic that he is believed it to be fate, and perhaps it was, but he knew now that it wasn’t the kind sort.

Fate was cruel and maleficent, making him believe that their hearts were intertwined when in reality it had been a ploy to torture them both in the end. Destiny left Jaskier heartbroken and Geralt with a life he didn’t want.

—

Some part of his mind registered Jaskier walking away.

Most of it was focused on containing the pain.

He had felt it slowly bloom in his chest at Yennefer’s weak “that’s why we can’t escape each other?” Anguish and bitterness in her voice. From there it had unfurled and spread throughout his body, the emotion burning him from the inside.

His being was now solely fixated on not letting it spread further.

Again, some part of him registered that it already had, it had spread to the bard, it had lashed out at him.

He felt like a flaming whip pulled taught. He felt in in his shoulders, his fists, his jaw.

He breathed in deeply.

His eyes were wet. He tried focusing them on the green valley below.

He breathed out and sunk to his knees.

He waited for the rushing noise in his head to stop.

His cheeks were wet.

He turned around. Yennefer was gone. Jaskier too.

So were their things when he returned to camp.

He breathed in and wailed.

—

The world was dull to him. The trees were not as green. The shades of blue across cornflower petals didn’t look the same anymore.

The world was quiet to him. Too quiet. Something was missing.

Never did he think the world would be dull and quiet. It had always been the opposite, too much, too loud.

He missed Jaskier desperately.

He hadn’t found him again since the mountain.

He could tell Roach missed him too.

Snippets of songs and melodies that had Jaskier’s mark drifted here and there. They were never him. How strange it was to hear others recount his own tales when he had grown so used to Jaskier being the only one.

For the first six months, he’d kept an ear out for any gossip of the famous bard but he had always seemed to arrive just a few days behind. Two months later and the chatter had dried up. No one had seen the bard, no one sang any new songs of his. He had searched the continent, gone to the coast, gone to Jaskier’s own town and found no sign of him.

It was like he had ceased to exist and so, Geralt’s world was dull and quiet.

The face of loneliness had never been clearer.

After those first eight months, he’d also started sleeping poorly.

Before, he’d been a light sleeper, ready to jump out of his bedroll fully aware and ready to defend. It came with being a Witcher. Although, admittedly, the nights spent in inns, on a relatively soft mattress, with a sleep-warm bard next to him had left him sleeping a bit deeper, waking a bit dazed.

Yet after those eight months, he’d slept restlessly. He’d dream of a weeping willow, drooping sadly. He’d dream of an open field and oddly wake up feeling caged.

When he himself found no sign of the bard, he’d gone to one of the few people he trusted, Triss Merigold. He had given her an old undershirt that Jaskier had forgotten to take with him. He made her try for three days before she had finally said “I really am sorry, Geralt, but truly, I can find no sign of your friend.” Geralt took the soft material back. “I fear he’s -“

“Don’t.” Whatever look he’d had on his face made her snap her mouth shut. Dark eyes looked at him with pity as he had turned, dropped some coin and left.

He’d go to Yennefer next.

“Geralt,” she greeted tensely, “didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”

Geralt had found Yennefer a few months after the dragon contract. They’d agreed that though they cared for each other deeply, it was best for them to have space, to move on. Geralt hoped desperately that one day they would become friends. Yennefer, though difficult and battle-hardened, remained fair and kind, one of the only people with whom Geralt shared easy conversation.

There was a longing between them, one that both knew was not falsified by the djinn. Neither knew what sort of longing they felt. One of friendship, companionship, understanding? Time and space would let them learn.

“I know,” He muttered apologetically, “I need your help.”

“You look awful.” She simply responded. Geralt winced. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

The Witcher opted for silence. He knew that she had heard him and knew that she was studying him, pondering his request.

“What do you need?” She asked finally, tone not one of acceptance but of curiosity.

“Jaskier.” The word came out sounding more distressed than he had intended. It was harder to maintain a mask through sleep deprivation. Yennefer’s expression briefly shifted to one of concern.

“What happened?”

Geralt’s throat suddenly felt compressed. Those two words somehow confirming that something had happened. Something had to have happened if he and Triss couldn’t find him.

Fear was a terrifying emotion because he truly didn’t know what he would do to end it.

“I…I don’t know. I can’t find him and neither can Triss.” Geralt pulled out the same shirt he had given to the other sorceress, gripping the folded fabric tightly in his hands. He looked up at Yennefer to find her looking right back with a sort of unease. “Please,” he said, offering the garment to her, “track him if you can.”

She stared at the shirt apprehensively, gaze snapping up to Geralt’s, looking for something. Finally, she sighed and turned to walk over to a large bookshelf, pulling out a thick, yellow-paged tome that had clearly not been removed for a good while.

“You’re lucky night is falling,” she said, stepping outside, not waiting for Geralt to follow. He did. “If regular tracking didn’t work, we’ll have to do it the hard way.” She walked to the middle of her large garden, sitting cross-legged in the grass, wine-coloured dress pooling around her. Geralt approached, ready to be told off and to step back, yet Yennefer said nothing as he sat down across from her.

The sorceress flipped the tome open to the centre, each side resting on a knee. Each side also being a couple inches thick. Tucked into the middle, between the two pages was a thin, silver geometrical compass. Yennefer lifted it with an elegant hand and placed it over one of the many configurations on the page. Geralt’s limited knowledge allowed him to surmise that they were astronomical. He looked up to the sky and the stars that he only knew to use for navigation.

“The shirt.” Yennefer said sharply, snapping his gaze back down to her and her outstretched hand. Shirt in one hand, compass in the other and tome on her lap, she began to speak. It was some variation of Elder. Geralt, only knowing the basics of the root language, was left clueless as the space above the book began to glow.

The light transformed the yellowed pages gold, illuminating Yennefer’s perfect features and making her look all the part of the powerful mage he knew she was. She dropped the shirt on the grass between them. Violet eyes looked up to the stars, compass travelling across the golden pages of the book. She flipped back and forth between the pages, her eyes shooting between stars. The compass twisted in complicated circular motions across configurations.

The light began to die slowly, Yennefer’s words slowing to a stop as she closed her eyes, clearly disappointed. Geralt’s stomach dropped and he felt like he might throw up the paltry dinner he’d had a few hours earlier.

“Yennefer, please -“

“I’m not done yet, Geralt.” She responded sharply before taking a breath, “I need something personal to him, something with an emotional connection. I may not be able to find his physical body,” because he may be dead was left unsaid “but I can perhaps find his spirit.”

Geralt tried to keep the devastation off his face at the implication.

An emotional connection. He knew immediately what to give her. A small pocket in the side of his leather armour held a painted witch stone. He gently pulled it out, rubbing his thumb over the messy petals of the buttercups. Yennefer didn’t comment on the item, though she looked at him with pinched brows. He placed the stone in the sorceress’ outstretched palm.

The golden light returned and Geralt watched as the sorceress studied the stars, measuring out constellations and distances in her book. Geralt had never been one for religion but he prayed, prayed for something.

Again, the light faded and Yennefer looked to him with a frown.

—

He’d been looking for tracks in the large forested area Yennefer had pointed him to. He’d been looking for two days and nothing had been found.

Honestly, he didn’t know what he was looking for. Yennefer had been unable to find his body but had found his spirit? Were they no longer attached? Geralt’s mind had been filtering through the different options of what that could mean, but even Yennefer didn’t know what to say. The thought that he might be dead was an unwelcome one in his mind.

It had recently rained and the ground squelched and shifted under Geralt’s boots. Most of the tracks had been washed away by the rain. Geralt lead Roach through the trees, eyes catching on imprints in the ground and broken shrub twigs. All signs indicating animal presence rather than human.

The forest was familiar to the Witcher, he’d been here before. He didn’t think much of it, he’d been to most places on the continent, the Path taking him wherever he needed to be. Yet when he tried to recall the memory tied to this place, it was not one of necessity or danger. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

Giving up on the meagre prints, he let the memory lead him. His feet found a forgotten path. Boots had flattened the earth so compactly, it was likely to last a long time. But it was littered with leaves and branches, clearly not trod on for a long while. He remembered the path, it had not looked so different the first time he had found it. It had soothed him that though this forest may once have been peopled, it was unlikely that they’d run into trouble.

They. He hadn’t been alone in the memory.

Vague and distant chatter tugged him forward, the line between reality and recollection blurring. He let go of Roach’s reins, trusting her to follow. He surged through the trees, pushing aside branches. Sunlight and grass filtered through the trees.

Spring.

Buttercups, dandelions, daisies, cornflowers.

A laugh ringing in his ears.

“Geralt look at this! It’s exquisite! We have to break here.”

The Witcher burst through the line of trees and froze. A field of green grass. It was familiar, but not just from the memory. A shiver down the back of his neck. Dread tightened his chest. His eyes landed on a weeping willow, its leaves pale. He didn’t remember it being here the last time.

Uneasily, he made his way towards it. It sagged so low that Geralt could not quite make out its bark. The pale leaves almost sparkled in the sun from the wetness of the leaves.

The Witcher crouched lower as he got closer, seeing a body through the drooping leaves. His hand hovered over his sword. He stopped before the wall of pallid green. The person behind had not moved, clearly unaware of his presence. He reached a hand out and pulled the leaves away, one hand still on the pommel of his sword.

His eyes landed on the man sitting on the damp grass, leaning back against the tree.

Geralt felt like the air had been punched out of him, body becoming immediately slack.

Wide shoulders. Soft, brown hair. Blue, inquisitive eyes.

“Fuck-“ the word came out sounding more like a sob than anything else, “Jaskier”.

Geralt took two steps forward and collapsed on his knees.

“Jaskier.” He reached out to touch him, to feel him warm and safe.

He felt nothing. His fingers slipped through.

A shimmer and a blur and the bark of a willow tree.

88 notes · View notes

westerhos · 5 years ago

Text

Our Story: Chapter 4

Woof, it’s been such a hell of a week! Here is a (slightly delayed) fourth chapter. As usual my notes are at the bottom. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.

[December 24, 1992]

The yellow mocks him. Lines of it cross the walls, broad brushstrokes that climb from floor to the ceiling, ceiling to floor. Back again.

FAITH.

Once, Jamie and Claire had laughed at the names underneath, the written ghosts of other possibilities:

“How about Lambert?”

“Nay, Dalhousie is much better.

“Dalhousie?” Claire’s paintbrush strike-through, a definite no. “That sounds like a bloody sneeze.”

He thinks of them now: the would-be Dalhousie, the would-be Lambert, who still exist, half-formed, beneath the layers of paint. Two futures they’d decidedly rejected, covering them with white and then, finally, in the brightest yellow. F-A-I-T-H, they’d declared instead. So bold and sure—what they’d chosen and surrendered, by force, to the grave.

I dinna ken how to say this, man, but the hospital called and…

It was the prison guard who’d told Jamie this, watery eyes peering apologies through the bars. For the first time since Jamie’s arrest, the man’s scowl had lifted, and under the twitching bush of mustache, a grimmer line rose up. Solid as any wall. (That line marks the end of this part of the story. Jamie and Claire’s marigold paradise, gone forever.)

Jamie sees the proof of this all around him: the crib is empty, its sheets unused and its teddy unloved. A bed that will wait and wait, its expectations never met. Right above, the mobile’s flowers droop, dead before tiny fingers could swat them into life. Jamie rips it from the ceiling, and the plaster falls. Little chips of white on his shoulders.

It has been eight months since Claire kneeled alone, veiled in black. It has been eight months since Jamie wept in orange, that very same day, behind a sheet of Plexiglass. He had stared into the other side, willing every visitor’s face into Claire’s. (None of them right; none of them hers.)

And it has been eight days since Claire left and Jamie woke up, drowning in their empty cot. He still smells her, all flowers and wet soil because, even gone, she is there beneath his skin.

Outside, Jamie hears carolers sing, voices carried on the upward swing of the wind. Silent night, holy night. He slides the window open, letting the ice fill his lungs. He holds his breath, welcomes the sting, and listens for the reassuring sounds of her. Claire, a memory under the gust and song:

“You should’ve seen the hernia I treated today!”

“He shushed me, can you believe it? What a wanker.”

“Chinese take-out for dinner, yeah?”

“Jamie, will you come to bed?”

But his wife grows faint beneath the rising bellows, the carolers cheered by the promise of warmth. Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright. And so Jamie exhales—nothing else to do but mouth along, swallow that calm, bright place within the wind; conjure it inside the studio.

In this new place, Jamie does not betray his wife or know the cold, unforgiving grip of handcuffs and the cold, unforgiving grip of grief. In this place, husbands say the right words and wives accept them, do not leave in the dead of night. Here is a place where things make sense, and where babies breathe. Holy infant so tender and mild.

And yet. Jamie and Claire’s home, with its frozen pipes and its skeleton crib, is not that place, does not make sense anymore. The great, illogical impossibility of it all—this:

It was here that Jamie, so desperate for money, siphoned off what little they had. A gamble gone wrong, behind Claire’s back and against his word. And it is here that Jamie wrapped his wrists each morning, bandaging the marks of four weeks in a cell. His skin had bruised, like his heart, which still sits feather-light in his chest. So soft, so quiet. So much of it gone without Claire.

From his window, Jamie watches the carolers advance towards a church, its doors sprung wide. Their footprints sign farewells in the snow, walking away, away, away. The wind howls in their wake, alive with Jamie’s loneliness.

“Come back!” he yells from above, and his own voice is a shock to him. He yells a second time, more frantic now. It comes so easily, these pleas to the retreating strangers. So much easier than calling his wife, begging for her forgiveness, because finally—finally—he has found the words. Come back, come back, come back.

But when it counted, Jamie had turned inward and away; had said nothing. Wasn’t silence better than the wrong words? Smile, rub your hand along her back, take her to bed and fill the void with another, different child? But in that silence, Claire had heard the rip—that swift severance of the bright, red string between them. The two of them, suddenly on their own, waging separate wars against the world. And so she’d left—and he has not called.

“Come back!” he yells again. His desperation echoes between the buildings.

For a second, Jamie thinks they’ve heard him. Their shuffling stops and a woman, fingers clutching her naked neck, turns around. She looks to the ground, all frenzied eyes, before someone grabs her, saying, “It’s cold! Leave it!” She resists at first, peering over her shoulder, but then forges onwards with the crowd. Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace…

It is quiet now. Jamie closes the window and leans against it, coming face to face with the empty crib. It is this, this above all else, that does not make sense to him. Hadn’t he seen the pictures—those blurry, vague promises of a little girl? Tacked them to the visor of his car, folded them into his wallet to brandish at the office? And hadn’t he felt the kicks against Claire’s stomach, and assembled this crib, this damn crib?

And yet—there is nothing that makes sense.

And yet—he knows handcuffs and he knows grief.

And yet—she’d had no words to accept, simply left in the dead of night.

And yet. And yet. And yet.

The baby did not breathe.

— - —

(Later, Jamie will rise from his sleep and look out the window. He will follow the path of the sinking sun until it catches a necklace, glaring golden in the snow. Jamie will brace the storm, put the necklace in his pocket. Wait. And when the sidewalk has melted, he will place the necklace there, precisely where it was dropped, for the caroler to find.

Of all the things that do not make sense, he is sure of this: soon, the woman will remember her father clasping it around her neck. Or she will remember when her boyfriend said, “I saw this, and I thought of you.” When she tried it on, just a child, in front of her mother’s mirror. She will remember how much she loves this necklace, this slice of paradise in the dark, cold winter, and she will look for it. This, Jamie knows: she will come back.)

— - —

Before she signs the papers, her lawyer asks, “Are ye sure of this, Claire?”

And when she sees the page, filled with so many endings, she wants to say, “No. No, I’m not sure.”

No, I don’t know if this is the right thing to do.

I don’t know.

But, Claire thinks, what other option is there? How else to forget the butterfly ears, or the way Faith’s skin had caught the dawn? Such a beautiful, translucent thing: strawberry hair, blue lightning across the pales of her lids. How else to forget that Claire had clung to the hospital sheets, so damp and so bloody, after they’d taken Faith away? Just to remember, please, she’d cried. Those dirty sheets, the only sign that the child had ever been there. Please, please. Just to remember.

She’s grown so tired of remembering, now craves the oblivion of forget. She does not want the memory of Jamie’s sleep-smile, lit red and blue (just like their daughter) by the Christmas tree’s glow. She does not want the memory of how she almost didn’t leave, how she’d stood in the gateway to their marigold paradise, paralyzed. A moment in time where she might have gone back, lain down beside her husband and unpacked the suitcase. Never called Ned Gowan.

Standing there that night, Claire had watched Jamie sleep and wondered: Would she have been like you? and Would she have looked like you? And the answers, so immediate and so clear in the rainbow tree light were, Yes. Because how could God resist?

And so what else is there to do but sign the papers? Jamie, day after day, staring back at her with their would-be-child’s face. Claire had closed the door, had not looked back. Because how could she possibly stay?

At her silence, Ned Gowan probes again, “Are ye sure of this, Claire?” and calmly, calmly she takes the pen. She signs along the blank line, and every loop of her name—now: Beauchamp, Beauchamp, Beauchamp—swirls with all her doubts.

No, I’m not sure.

No, I don’t know if this is the right thing to do.

I don’t know.

I don’t—

No.

— - —

(If the heart moves at the speed of light, then it will shatter upon impact. A million broken shards, all strewn across the world. Pieces of Claire will remain in that studio, in that cot, in her husband’s arms. But most will be found buried deep below the ground. Inside the tiny, wooden box that holds their baby girl.)

— - —

And now we get to my least favorite chapter in the entire fic! I still laugh about the fact that I casually gloss over Jamie gambling their life away on the day Faith died—which I think was my nod to Jamie’s duel with BJR? I honestly never quite figured it out, which means it probably shouldn’t be in the story at all. It’s asking you guys to take a massive leap of faith, so thanks for making the jump for me.

Either way, I have seen my parents go through a similar experience. And I think when you’re living on your own for the first time—as I was doing when I first wrote this—you start to reflect on who they are as people, outside of their role as “your parent”. What sort of griefs and hardships have they shielded you from? It was something that was on my mind at the time and it bled into this story.

Despite its flaws, there are some things I still like about this chapter. Claire and Jamie painting Faith’s name on the wall is the image that I started with. The passage about Jamie seeing the caroler is one of my favorites, and I hope it’s a metaphor that works. And I still like the rhythm of Claire’s indecision: I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t—No. It’s nice to write something that makes even you, the writer, feel a lil sad!

#outlander #myfic #jamie fraser #i like how even when i'm just reposting shit i can't stick to a schedule #claire beauchamp

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maraudererasmut · 5 years ago

Text

Black and White (Part XXXVIII)

Sirius

Thanks again for dinner. It was delicious. I had a great evening. Hope you did, too. 😘

Remus kept staring at the text, trying to interpret it for any hidden meaning. This was the first time Sirius had ever used an emoji while texting him. Sirius was thirty. Thirty year old men didn't use emojis, did they?

Remus didn't...

Remus typed out his response and hit send before rolling over and starting his day. He needed to paint, to clear his mind from all the fog that had settled in his brain.

The artist walked up to one of his blank canvases and stared at it, waiting for it to talk to him, to whisper its secrets into his heart. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of gesso and acrylic paint, trying to steady his racing mind. When he opened his eyes again, he was ready.

Remus grabbed a brush and a palette and began spreading paint across his canvas, focusing on how his tools felt beneath his hands. There was nothing quite like thick acrylic paint— the bold colours that it could achieve, the texture of paint on the canvas. Smooth brushstrokes layered themselves, one atop another, and Remus let himself cover his canvas, not worrying or thinking, just focusing on the feeling of painting.

Buzz buzz.

The buzzing of Remus' phone pulled him from his work; he grabbed it from his pocket and checked his texts.

Remus

I did, too. Thanks for coming over

Sirius

How about I return the favour? Dinner tomorrow at my place? I have a tv

Remus smiled at Sirius' text. He wrote his response out and debated for a moment whether or not to send it. Did people really use emojis to communicate these days?

Remus

Sounds like a plan ❤️

Once the message was sent, Remus returned his focus to painting, trying not to overthink his word choice.

Buzz buzz.

Remus briefly mused how quickly Sirius had responded, before he actually saw who the text was from.

Lily

Really? A heart emoji? God, you two are smitten.

Remus rolled his eyes. He was about to type out a snarky response when his phone began to ring. He answered it on speakerphone, placing it on a stool next to his canvas so that he could work while talking.

“What’s up?”

“You busy right now?” Lily’s smile could be heard across the phone line.

“I’m painting. Why?”

There was a pause on the other end before Lily responded.

“Wanna grab coffee? We should chat.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine, don’t worry. I just… Wanna hear about last night.”

Remus scowled at his painting as he tried to interpret Lily’s meaning.

“What about it? Sounds like you’re with Sirius right now… Can’t he tell you?”

“Yeah, well… that’s kind of why I want to talk…”

“Fine,” Remus sighed, resigned to his fate. “Meet you at the Daily Grind in half an hour?”

“Sounds good!”

Remus hung up his phone and looked down at the paintbrush in his hand.

“Sorry, my friend. We’re gonna have to do this later,” he grumbled at it, vaguely wondering why he bothered to address inanimate objects and whether or not Sirius would find it weird.

________

“Talk to me, Remus,” Lily announced as she sat down across from her friend with two cups in her hand; a coffee for her and a chai tea for Remus.

Remus raised a brow and tried not to smirk.

“About?”

“Shut up. You know exactly what about!”

Remus couldn’t help himself as he watched Lily’s face twist in frustration.

“Well, do you want me to shut up or to talk?”

“I will hurt you, Remus Lupin. Don’t think I won’t!” Remus knew that Lily was joking, but if she hadn’t been, he would likely have been terrified. As petite as she was, Lily was feisty, and Remus was sure she could beat him in a fight any day of the week.

“Okay, okay! Geez, Lily…” Remus pretended to complain, holding his hands up dismissively. “We had a date last night. Sirius came over. We had dinner, we watched a movie! Why is this so urgent?”

“So… he didn’t stay the night?”

Remus blinked, taken slightly off guard.

“Uh… no? No, he… he left after the movie. Is that… weird?”

Lily shrugged, worrying her coffee cup between her fingers.

“I’m… not sure yet. Something’s up with Sirius, I’m just trying to figure it out…”

Remus felt his stomach lurch and his head immediately began filling with the worst case scenario.

“What’s wrong, Lily? Is he okay? Should we head over?”

“What? No, he’s…” Lily glanced up and noticed the panicked expression on Remus’ face, realizing her mistake. “Shit, I’m sorry. Nothing like that! He’s fine, don’t worry. I just… he seemed a bit out of sorts today…”

A wave of relief washed over Remus as he felt himself relax into his chair.

“Out of sorts? In what way?”

Lily shrugged, chewing her lip in contemplation.

“I just… He thought you were mad at him this morning and he… he wouldn’t tell us why.”

Remus furrowed his brow, taking a sip of his tea.

“I wasn’t mad at him…” He mumbled, a twinge of guilt in his voice.

“I didn’t think you were… I just… when you sent him that stupid heart emoji, I hadn’t seen him that happy in ages… I’m glad you sent it.”

Remus groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands.

“That stupid emoji… Since when did people our age use emojis?”

“What happened, Remus? If the date went well, why was Sirius so weird this morning?”

Remus stared at the table for a moment, trying to figure out how to talk to Lily about his problems without sounding like an immature teenager. Remus took another sip of tea, letting the warm liquid burn its way down his throat, heating him up from the inside.

“Things were really great at first…” He began, setting his cup down and focusing on it. “We were watching a movie and… and cuddling. And things got… You know…”

Lily made a sound as if she had just seen a puppy snuggling with a kitten, and Remus felt his chest tighten.

“Go on…”

“I just…” Remus sighed, running his fingers through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. “We were snogging, yeah? And I tried to… you know… make a move… Sirius just… didn’t seem interested.”

“Again?”

Remus nodded. He felt Lily reach out and place her hand atop his, giving it a loving squeeze before pulling away.

“Did he… say why?”

“Nope. Just that… it wasn’t me. Which… Doesn’t feel true.” Remus closed his eyes, rubbing them again, trying to make sense of the thoughts that had been driving him crazy since the night before. “I get that he’s not ready. And consent is so important, I know that. And… And I know that he doesn’t owe me an explanation, I do! I just… It’s so hard to hear that someone doesn’t want to be with you. It’s… It’s such a blow to the ego… To have someone... someone who you’re so attracted to, someone who says they’re attracted to you, too. And they just… don’t want to do things with you and I just…”

Remus exhaled, trying to steady himself and nip his rambling in the bud.

“I get it, Remus… That must be hard…”

“I just… It all sounds so stupid! It’s so… so… childish! I hate that this is getting to me! I know, objectively, that this is a perfectly normal situation with a perfectly reasonable explanation…” Remus ran his fingers through his curls again. "It took me years… years to finally build the confidence to know what I want and to ask for it. Taking the lead in a… a sexual situation… that's new to me. I had to shake all of those ingrained feelings that were drilled into me as a kid. Being gay is bad, sex is bad— wanting sex? That's extra bad! I had to… detach myself from that… internalized homophobia, that embedded hatred of myself and my sexuality. And I just… it… fuck, it feels like I'm right back there right now! I'm… wondering if there's something wrong with me. I went out on a limb and tried to express my desires, and being met with resistance makes me feel… undesirable. Does… does that make any sense?"

Remus looked up into emerald green eyes that shimmered with lingering tears. Lily looked so affected by Remus' words, so taken by what he had to say.

"Oh, Remus… I know exactly what you mean. I get it. I really do… And I am so sorry that you're going through that…”

“And…” Remus continued after a beat. “And if he just… came out and said something? Like, if he said “Hey, Remus, by the way, I’m asexual!” That would be fine. Better than fine! I get that! That’s something I understand. And we could figure things out from there! I just… That’s not what’s happening. Sirius just… doesn’t want to do stuff with me and I just… I don’t know why. And I know that he’s fine hooking up with other people, apparently it’s just me that he has a problem with—“

“Remus…”

Remus looked up. He had gotten so lost in his own head, he hadn’t realized that he was spilling out the thoughts that had been kept inside for so long; unspoken problems that he hadn’t had a chance to decipher, let alone say aloud.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry. I just… I want you guys to be happy. And I think you can be… I worry when I see you like this, it’s not really like you…”

“Yeah… This is… new to me...” Remus hadn’t been in a real relationship for a while; he forgot how vulnerable he felt whenever he opened himself up to someone, allowing them to see past his carefully constructed barriers. He hated it. “I just… wish I could figure this out…”

“Sirius just needs time, I think. I’m not sure what’s up with him, but whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll open up to you about it. He’s… he’s so taken by you. He adores you, Remus. I can see it in his smile. I can see it every time I mention you. He lights up whenever he talks about you…”

Remus felt himself blush as he took another sip of tea.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. Really,” Lily said with a nod. “You bring out the best in him. I think what he needs right now is… a bit of patience.”

“I think I can manage that,” Remus said to his cup, smiling lovingly at it. “Patience…”

#Wolfstar #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Black and White #Wolfstar Fanficiton #Wolfstar AU #My writing #Black and White Part 38 #Part 38 #Part XXXVIII #I think I’m finally back to posting daily!!#Or at least every other day!#I think I can manage to start posting again more frequently!!#Thank you for your patience everyone!!#I really appreciate it!!#You’re all so amazing!!

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acanvasofabillionsuns · 5 years ago

Text

(i wish we had) one more kiss

happy birthday to the rad, excellent, neat @main-chive!!! and thank you to @ratherstarryeyed for betaing!!

AO3 link!

Summary: Patton and Remus, through the years (or: 5 times Patton kissed Remus, and one time Remus kissed Patton) Warnings: there’s a few instances of non-consensual kissing? (it’s more Patton smooches him without warning than Remus not wanting to be kissed), a couple suggestive lines Wordcount: 2508

“Ow!” Remus cried. Patton skidded to a halt, turning around and running back to his friend.

“What happened?”

“I fell.” Remus pouted. “My knee hurts.” He propped his leg up so that Patton could see the scrapes on his knee.

“Oh no!” Patton tried to think what his mommy had done last time he’d scraped his knee. She’d cleaned it, and then put a bright blue band-aid with Mickey Mouse on it on his knee, and then kissed it to make the hurt stop. Patton could do that! “I can help!”

“You can?” Remus asked.

“Yeah!” Patton grinned. “We clean it off,” he patted Remus’s knee until all the little rocks that had gotten stuck on it fell off, “and then we put a band-aid on it, except since I don’t have any band-aids then we’ll have to skip that part, and then we kiss it so it stops hurting!” He bent down and placed a kiss on Remus’s knee. “There! All better!”

“Thanks, Patty!” Remus grinned.

“You’re welcome!” Patton beamed. He’d helped!

He stood up, then held out his hand to help Remus up too. Remus took it, standing up, then winced and frowned down at his knee.

“It hurts again now that I’m standing,” Remus told him, looking up at Patton with confusion.

“Huh,” Patton said. “Maybe we do need to go get a band-aid since we skipped that part?”

Remus sighed. “I guess. We’ll go back to playing once I get the band-aid, right?”

“Of course!”

“Okay.” Remus still looked a little put out, but he grinned at Patton anyway. “Bet I can beat you back to my house!” He took off running.

“No fair!” Patton cried, racing after him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus was being spacey and quiet. Usually, Patton wouldn’t mind too much since the silence meant he could focus on his homework, but Remus had been quiet for long enough that Patton had practically finished it without being interrupted once, and he was bored and needed a break.

He poked Remus’s cheek. “What’s up with you?”

Remus startled and turned to Patton. “Huh?”

“You’re all…” Patton waved his hand in vague circles, “spaced out-y, and I’m not sure you’ve said five sentences since I got here. So what’s wrong?” He poked Remus’s cheek again for emphasis.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Remus said, immediately getting a pillow to the face for his attempt.

“Try again,” Patton told him.

“Roman and Logan started dating.” Remus wrinkled his nose, and Patton mirrored him. Weren’t they too young for dating? They’d just started middle school. “And that got me thinking…”

“Dangerous,” Patton teased, and Remus hit him with the pillow Patton had used to hit him not even a minute before. This was betrayal.

“I was thinking,” Remus began again, sticking his tongue out at Patton, who stuck his out right back. “Dating means kissing—among other things—and I’ve never been kissed before. What if once I start dating then whoever I date breaks up with me because I’ve never kissed anyone else before and I’m bad at it?”

Patton took all that in, thought it over, and then declared, “That’s stupid.”

“Hey!”

Remus scowled at him, and Patton continued, “Kissing’s easy and if someone breaks up with you because they don’t think you’re a good kisser then I’ll punch them.”

“How would you know what kissing’s like?” Remus demanded.

Patton rolled his eyes and kissed Remus. “There. See? Easy.”

“Hey!” Remus said, again, and so naturally Patton had to taunt, “Is that all you can say?” and start a pillow fight.

(And if by the time they were done Remus had forgotten all about kissing, then all the better.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

III

“Paaaaaaattonnnnn,” Roman called as he burst into the art room, causing Patton to look up from his painting. “I need your help.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s this scene in our play where I just can’t seem to get the feelings in it right, and you’re always great at figuring out how to convey emotion like you want,” Roman pouted.

Patton sighed and set his paintbrush down carefully, brushing his hands on his jeans and standing up. “What do you need?”

Roman brightened. “So the prince is greeting everyone, and a handshake seems too formal but a hug wouldn’t be appropriate and I just don’t know what else could be done. Any ideas?”

Patton hummed thoughtfully. “Remus! Could you come help?”

“Sure,” Remus agreed, setting his brush and paints aside and coming over. “Whatcha need?”

“Roman’s brainstorming greetings from the prince in his play and I said I’d help,” Patton told him. “What about, like, a hand kiss?”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “Genius!”

“Oh, oh!” Patton added excitedly. “The love interest comes in with the rest of the people the prince greets, too, right?”

“Yeah?”

“What if he makes eye contact as he does the kiss, like—Remus, could I see your hand?” Remus gave him his hand obligingly, and Patton moved in front of him to bend at the waist and kiss the back of his palm, looking up and making eye contact with Remus as lips met skin. He ignored the zinging that went through him when that happened, tabling it for later to think over and scream into pillows about.

Patton dropped the hand and straightened, grinning at Roman. “Like that?”

“Oh, that’s perfect, thank you!” Roman said, flashing a grin at the both of them before rushing out of the classroom.

Patton hummed, pleased, and went back to painting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Patty!” Remus cried, popping into Patton’s vision. “Come play Spin The Bottle with us!”

“Okay,” Patton agreed, letting Remus take his arm and drag him a few rooms over, where Roman, Virgil, Logan, Remy, and Emile were all waiting. Patton plopped into an opening in the circle.

“Who goes first?”

“Nose goes,” Emile announced, and Patton smacked his nose immediately. Around him, everyone but Remy did the same.

“Oh no,” Remy said, grinning. “I’ve got to kiss someone. A tragedy.” Virgil, sitting next to them, shoved them.

“Don’t spin it on me.”

Remy placed a hand on their chest in faux offense. “Are you saying you wouldn’t want to kiss moi?”

“Don’t see how anyone would, honestly,” Virgil teased. Remy gasped loudly.

“Shut up and start the game, loser,” Remus taunted.

Remy rolled their eyes and twisted the bottle. It spun feebly, barely making a full turn before landing on Virgil, who immediately shoved Remy again.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused.

“It was the first turn, I was getting used to how it spins!” Remy protested.

Before they could keep bickering, Patton started chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The others took up the chant.

Virgil sighed heavily and turned to Remy.

“Don’t be too enthusiastic, now, or I might think you might like me,” they commented, smirking.

“A tragedy,” Virgil said, barely pecking them before pulling back. “If that’s not good enough for you guys then I’m leaving.”

“Fine,” Remus sighed. “You’re up, Virge!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and spun the bottle. It landed on Roman. Virgil glanced over at Logan.

“You chill with me kissing your boyfriend?”

“In the context of a party game, where the goal is to kiss the other players? No, how dare you,” Logan snarked.

“Just checking! Consent and all that.” Virgil leaned over and gave Roman a chaste kiss. “Your turn, Romano.”

“I’ve told you I hate that nickname,” Roman grumbled, spinning the bottle. It landed on Remus. The twins wrinkled their noses simultaneously and Roman spun again. This time it landed on Patton.

“Oh, my prince!” Patton cried dramatically, falling sideways into his lap. “Ravish me now!” Roman snorted and pecked Patton’s lips lightly.

“Stunning. Best kiss ever,” Patton declared, sitting up as he did so. “Logan, I’m stealing your boyfriend.”

“Good riddance.”

“Hey!” Roman squawked.

Patton giggled and spun the bottle. It landed on Remus.

“The bottle certainly likes you tonight, huh?” He joked, trying to cover up his nerves at the thought of kissing Remus. He’d done it before! And this was just a game, one he’d agreed to join knowing that this was a possibility! (And, maybe, hoped it would happen. But that was a secret and even if that did, hypothetically, happen, then he was reconsidering now that he was about to kiss Remus and his stomach had turned into a swarm of nervous butterflies.)

“Not as much as I like you.” Remus winked and oh, goodness, was he trying to make Patton’s face burst into flame?

“Just kiss,” Remy heckled, and Patton huffed and kissed Remus. It barely lasted longer than the time it took to press their lips against each other, but Patton still felt the butterflies burst into fluttering, and he barely held back a shiver.

He pulled back and wrinkled his nose at Remy, asking, “How’s that?”

They grinned, almost shark-like. “Fantastic.

“The only thing that could be better,” they continued dramatically, “is if someone would come and accompany my lips. They’re very lonely.”

“I just kissed you like two minutes ago,” Virgil pointed out.

“And you were perfectly lackluster, but they’re still quite lonely,” they assured him. He rolled his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patton was going on a date, with Remus, and he thought he might vibrate out of his skin from excitement. Or maybe nerves.

He’d been wanting this for years! Resigned himself to simply pining quietly for his best friend, like some fanfiction character! But here he was!

They’d gone to Waffle House and now were sitting on swings and talking. It felt like any other time they’d done this, but adding the label of a date sent a thrill through him whenever he thought about it.

“Toilet seat for your thoughts?” Remus offered. Patton giggled, tipping his head back to stare at the sky happily.

“I’m thinking about… how happy I am to be here with you,” Patton said. “I’m really glad you said yes.” He looked over and grinned at Remus. “Is that too sappy?”

“We can be too sappy together,” Remus declared.

“Perfect.”

All too soon Patton was checking his phone and wincing at the time. “We should probably go home.”

“Boooooo.” Remus gave a thumb’s down and stuck his tongue out.

“It’s nearly two am,” Patton pointed out, not any happier about it. “We’ve got school tomorrow.”

“We could skip,” Remus offered. “Spend the day making out and dodging any adults we come across.”

“I don’t...” Patton trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

“We don’t have to!”

“I wouldn’t mind skipping with you, but... I don’t think? I’d be comfortable? Making out. With you. Or anyone.” Patton twisted his fingers nervously. “It’s just so new, you know?”

“Oh! Okay! That’s fine, Patty, we definitely don’t have to do it tomorrow or ever, if you don’t want to,” Remus assured him.

“I think I would, eventually, but just… give me time?”

“Of course,” Remus told him. “Spend the day vibing with music and cruising around town in my truck?”

“I’d love to.” Patton smiled. “However, if we’re going to do that, then I would like to get some sleep beforehand, so. Walk me home?”

“If you must leave me,” Remus flopped backwards dramatically, raising a hand to his forehead.

“Dork,” Patton snorted, nudging him with his foot. Remus bounced out of the swing, grinning widely.

“I already know,” Patton cut him off, and Remus closed his mouth with a pout. “You’ve already told me a dozen times this month, you can’t pout at me when I know what you’re going to say.”

Remus sighed. “Fair point.”

Patton beamed at him. “That’s what they call my… you know.” He rotated his hips suggestively, then took off running, giggling into his hands at the scandalized “Patty!” from behind him.

“What can I say?” He called back, slowing to a stop as Remus stayed where he was and trying to squash his laughter long enough to talk. “You must be rubbing off on me.” He cackled and took off again as Remus started to chase him.

He almost managed to make it to his house without being caught, Remus scooping his waist and slowing them to a stop at the beginning of their road.

Patton wasn’t able to calm his laughter until Remus was setting him down on his doorstep, having pulled him into a princess carry and walked him home.

“Goof,” Remus teased lightly, booping Patton’s nose.

“Your goof,” Patton countered, still grinning widely, and booped him back.

“Yep,” Remus sighed happily.

Patton beamed up at him for a moment longer, before chirping, “Okay! Goodnight!” then kissing him on the cheek and ducking inside.

(Remus stared at the closed door, fingers grazing the spot where Patton had kissed him, until Patton poked out of his window to tell him to “Go home and get some sleep, dummy!”)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do I even want to know?” Remus asked.

“Probably not,” Patton said, trying to smile winningly. Remus rolled his eyes and pointed to the counter, digging through the freezer. Patton hopped up obligingly, accepting the ice pack Remus gave him and pressing it against his lip. He’d taken the guy down pretty quickly—probably at least partially the shock factor of the friendliest guy on campus starting a fight—but he’d gotten in a couple good punches.

Remus came back with the medicine box and some vaseline.

“Wiggle your fingers for me?” he asked. Patton did, and Remus nodded. “Probably didn’t break anything, then. Good. Put the ice pack on your knuckles while I treat your lip?”

Patton did so, and Remus wet a paper towel and dabbed at the blood on his face.

“Did you win?”

“Yeah,” Patton grinned, then winced as it pulled on his split lip painfully. Remus winced in sympathy, taking some vaseline and smearing it gently on the injury.

“As much as I love it, you’ll probably want to not smile for the next few days, or at least be careful when you do,” Remus advised. “Also, I know it’s tempting, but don’t lick it, that’ll hurt more than help. If you keep applying vaseline regularly that should help curb the impulse.”

“Okay,” Patton agreed, half-smiling at him to try and avoid the pain of fully smiling. It sort of worked.

Remus smiled back, then asked, “Let me see your hands?”

Patton set the ice pack beside him and presented his hands to Remus, who took them gently in his own and examined them. He hummed consideringly, then told him, “I think these should be fine with just ointment to help with pain.”

“Well, y’know,” Patton raised his eyebrows enticingly. “I’ve heard kisses also help with pain.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

“Well, we’ll just have to try that out, won’t we?” Remus asked, then kissed his knuckles gently, like an absolute tease who knew exactly what he wanted when he asked for kisses. (Not that he didn’t treasure every kiss from Remus, but still.) Patton whined softly, and Remus snickered before lightly kissing him on the lips.

“How’s that?”

Patton hummed. “I think it still hurts a little. We’ll have to try again.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Remus grinned and kissed him.

#wasn't said explicitly in the fic but patton's demi #title is from lucky by jason mraz #ts patton #ts remus #intruality #ts roman #ts virgil #ts remy #ts logan #ts emile #background logince #nonbinary remy #my fics #my writing #sanders sides #ren #happyyyyyyyy birthdayyyyyyyyyyy #i hope you like this!

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xxtha-blog · 5 years ago

Text

So apperently I wrote a oneshot fanfic and forgot about it for almost 2 years

And because it's comedy fucking gold, and also some quality post-comic Ace content, I thought I'd share it with you people here.

Without further adieu, may I present to you

A Casual Encounter With Ace

Ink knew very little of Ace. He had met him once, briefly, in the last moments before his AU disappeared into nothingness, Ace sneaking through the portal Dream had created and slipping away from the destruction of his own home like it was nothing more than an average Saturday. Ink barely had the chance to talk to him, didn’t even know his name, he just knew that there was a flamboyant top hat wearing skeleton that enjoyed stealing things and harassing Dream, prancing around the multiverse and causing chaos with no restrictions. Of course, Ink planned to catch him… eventually… if he hadn’t forgotten… multiple times. But it was Ace who seemed to catch him instead.

Ink had been sitting in the snow, crouched behind the trees of Underswap, checking up on the stability of the timeline, when he heard a voice behind him. At first, he thought it was Blue, the only one who would know to look for him there, but the accent threw him off. Ink turned slowly, curious, and saw the black and red skeleton leaning against his staff behind him, smiling modestly as he surveyed the rest of the underground as Ink did.

Ink paused for a second. “Hey– Don’t I know you…?” He tapped a pencil against his chin, working with all his might to remember.

“Perhaps, dear sir, perhaps indeed, for I am quite popular, simply ask my wonderous fans, who may be reading this right now! Which does remind me, do you ever realize that we transcend not only drawings and comic books, but also code, writing, and animations. It’s quite crazy when you think about it, I mean, just look at you. What? One of the most popular characters in the entire fandom created by a mere teenager! Mind boggling and simply astounding, our existence, both of us in fact, relies only on two simple teenagers bringing us to life.” Ace talked mellifluously, his accent smooth and precise, as though someone had mashed together a French and British accent and added a gay flare to it. He talked incredibly fast, as though to confuse everyone with his slur of words, despite them not being slurred in the slightest.

Ink stood up, brushing the snow off his sweater. “Wait a second!” He glanced up again his eyes widening. “Aren’t you that magician guy?!”

Ace tilted his head, intrigued.

“Aha!” Ink declared in triumph. “I finally found you!”

“Magician guy is quite vague. And a guy, no, no, dear sir, not at all, I simply am I, an illusionist, a magician, a slight bit insane, but far saner than you, so I must ask for you to be a tad bit more specific for fear I may misinterpret what you wish to say and be unable to reply!” Ace spun his staff around, giving Ink a slight smirk.

“You’re from that AU- Oh what was it.” Ink spun his hands through the air, churning his memory around. “Magicwhatever, Lucktale, Underchance, Chancyluck, Chance, Chance something, Chancetale-? CHANCETALE!” He put his hands on his hips proudly.

“A dead name, no?” Ace raised his eye sockets into a quizzical expression.

“I mean, yeah, but you’re still here, which means you’re screwing up timelines. Which means I gotta stop ya!” With a quick flip of his arm behind his head, Ink pulled his paintbrush out in front of him and pointed it towards Ace.

“Stop me? Stop me! Oh, how wonderful!” Ace’s eyes lit up as he spun on his heel with glee.

“You’re supposed to be worried,” Ink pointed out. “Like, oh no he’s going to catch me?! Whatever shall I do! And then I go, heck yeah I’m going to catch you! Because I’ve got a super cool paintbrush!”

“I dare say you do not.”

“What do you mean? My paintbrush is awesome, I mean just look at it–" he stopped. "Where’s my paintbrush?” Ink’s hands were empty, his fingers grasping at the cold air around them and nothing more. He wondered if his memory had lapsed again, but he could have sworn he had just been holding it. He reached back only to grasp at the air once more.

Ace casually spun the paintbrush in his hands, still standing stationary a dozen or so feet away, studying the fine patterns on the metal clasps. “Quite a nice paintbrush, indeed, I do not disagree with that, however, you do not have it, therefore your statement was false.” Without another word, the paintbrush disappeared into thin air, and Ace merely tilted his top hat.

Ink started to take things a little more seriously, his smile fading. He straightened. “This’ll be interesting.”

“Oh, tis always interesting when I’m here! Just ask your dear friend Dream!”

“We’re not really friends,” Ink said with a shrug. “He just happens to be useful sometimes.”

“Oh my! What wonderful news we have here! I’ll be sure to keep it in mind to use against you so that I can slowly break apart your relationship until you are both mortal enemies in which case I can use your turmoil to my advantage!” He clasped his hands together, smiling softly, before adding, "If need be."

Ink stared for a second. “You know if you really want to be evil, you shouldn’t announce what you’re going to do out loud.”

“Evil? No, I’m not evil. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever consider myself to be evil, for that would mean I am profoundly immoral, and although I am profound, immoral I am not. I know precisely what is right and wrong, and good and bad, and have no trouble discerning between the two. I simply choose to do good and choose to do bad based on the situation and outcome it will provide me, and dear sir, it is quite a bore to be simply one or the other, is it not? I mean, you’re one to speak, think of the things you have done and the people you have hurt for your own benefit, quite chaotic indeed, but not evil. Few would call the fabulous Ink evil. Therefore I am not evil. I am just spontaneous, whether that be something pleasant or something disagreeable.”

“You really do talk a lot,” Ink said, crossing his arms.

“Tis a showman thing.”

“Showman?”

“Oh! Would you like to see a show?!”

“Not really. I was in the middle of–”

Ace clapped his hands together cutting Ink off, his staff forming between his palms as he pulled them apart. He twirled his staff like a baton before stamping it down into the snow and pulling his top hat off his head, taking a slight bow before beginning, “A magic show! For the fabulous Encre!”

Ace began to perform his dazzling illusions. As real as reality, yet as mad as a dream. He swept up beside Ink and before Ink could say a word, slipped his scarf right over his head and turned it a kaleidoscope of brown butterflies. Ink went to protest, but a butterfly zipped over top of his mouth and turned into a brown piece of duct tape. The rest of the butterflies froze, falling to ice cubes on the ground before bursting into tiny glass shards that glimmered with little lights.

“Butterflies were not meant for the underground! How unfortunate. The terms and conditions said nothing about turning to glass, however! Then again, I did not read them. Alas, now I must clean this all up.” Ace spun back around Ink, standing over top of the pile of glass shards.

Ink shouted, but his words came out as muffled gibberish. He tried to pull the duct tape off, but it refused to budge. He waved his arms around, exasperated.

“What’s that dear sir? You wish to see more magic tricks? Well, I wish to perform more as well!” Ace spread his arms out, the glass shards levitating off the ground around him before spinning into a small ball and transforming into a lightbulb above Ace's fingertips. He caught it out of the air, studying it closely, before looking back up at Ink.

“I would put this above my head and say I do so happen to have an idea, but that would be terribly cliché, would it not?”

“Mphfffff!”

“I wholeheartedly agree! I’ll put it inside my mouth instead!”

Ace slipped the lightbulb between his teeth, smiling deviously.

“Now dear sir,” he said with zero hindrance, despite the lightbulb clamped between his teeth. “It is a well-known fact that when one puts a lightbulb inside their mouth, it shall go in quite fine and then never ever come out again in one piece! Today I am here to prove that theory wrong and promote the putting of light bulbs in your mouth everywhere!” Ace let out a small laugh before quickly inhaling the lightbulb.

Ink’s eyes narrowed, giving up his attempts to talk through the duct tape.

“Where ever has it gone? Ah! I know!” Ace reaches a hand inside his left eye socket and pulls the lightbulb into the place his heart-shaped pupil should have been.

“And now to turn it on!”

With a slight flick of his wrist, Ace summoned an egg out of midair, then cracked it against the nearest tree. From the cracked shell sprang a toaster, which Ace caught in his hands as though he had done this many a time. He quickly plugged the toaster into the tree and waited a few seconds, but nothing seemed to happen.

Ink watched, both baffled and annoyed, only able to express his feelings through a few grunts and shakes of his head. Ink had seen many things over his life, AUs full of nothing but Sanses, characters made of watermelons, atrocious crossovers, but nothing quite as strange as this.

“Oh, I see what I’m doing wrong! Forgive me, dear sir, I have never used a toaster in my life! I run solely off of white chocolate!” Ace unplugged the toaster from the tree and threw it as far as he could muster. “Farewell, dear toast maker. I shall miss thee.”

He reached inside the small red pouch on his shirt, barely bigger than a golf ball, and pulled a full sized hair dryer.

Why do you have a hairdryer?! Ink shouted, his eyes wide, but it simply came out as “Wff duh vu hvv a her dyr?!”

“For this, dear sir, why else.” Ace put the end of the hairdryer up to his eye and turned it on. It wasn’t plugged into anything, the cord dangling around Ace's ankles. As the hairdryer whirred to life, the light bulb flickered on.

Ace pulled the hair dryer away, making it disappear into a flurry of little pink sparkles before taking a long bow, one of his eyes now made of a little yellow glowing light bulb.

Ink clapped sarcastically.

“Why thank you! Thank you! Truly an amusing time we've had here today!” He pranced over to Ink, patting him on the head twice. When Ink tried to grab him, his entire vision spun around and he was suddenly facing the complete opposite direction.

“Now, now, that’s no way to treat someone who just performed for you.”

Ink turned on his heels, looking around for Ace, but he was nowhere to be seen. The piece of duct tape had vanished.

“Farewell, dear Ink, until you wish for another magic show!”

The voice came from nowhere and echoed throughout the trees before fading into nothingness. On the ground, there was a small paper card. Ink bent over and picked it up, flipping it open. Inside was a tiny brush, smaller than a thumbtack, taped to the inside of the card with a small heart and delicate cursive handwriting: I believe this belonged to you?

#undertale #chancetale fanfic #chancetale writing #Ace and Ink #Chancetale fic #Fanfic #undertale au #Please dont eat lightbulbs

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nerevarswritingstuff · 5 years ago

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Alla Prima Pt. 1 - Lucifer/Reader

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee!

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t honored to be gifted with the opportunity to paint a mural for the King of Hell himself. You were honored, beyond words in fact. You never expected him nor his family to have noticed you or your paintings. You knew there were plenty more out there that far surpassed your skills, but hey the pay is… well, “nice” would be understating it too much.

The pay was great. It’d let you buy a new studio, new supplies, new everything. You were allowed to stay within the mansion (which was also another understatement, this place was huge) in one of the guest wings, and given all the privacy and time required to finish. It was practically a dream come true, considering how previous clients would give you unrealistic deadlines for big pieces.

However, there was one problem. You wished it was just not having the right amount of paint for it or not enough time, but no. It was the worst possible scenario any painter or artist could ever have happen to them.

Lucifer gave you fuck all to go off of for what he wanted.

In your less than five minute conversation of him greeting you in the antechamber, all he said that he wanted was a mural of an apple tree in the ballroom. Then he had his servants show you where you were to paint it and where your guest room would be.

The vagueness of what he wanted for this commission made you want to break your brushes over your knee and give him a piece of your mind. “An apple tree mural” could be so many things! Did he want a landscape? In a specific style? Is it just one tree or an orchard? Is it in Hell or the living world? Night? Day? The list is endless. There was so little to go off of you had no idea where to fucking start.

Sure, you like a bit of artistic freedom, but not this much freedom. What if your client hated it and demanded a refund? Too many variables can lead to complications and you hate complications. Of course, you’ve always handled these types of clients easily enough, as some of their blood makes a wonderful mixture for paints.

But you couldn’t exactly deal with Lucifer the same way if he hated your painting. If anything he might just kill you. He could probably just kill you with his thumb. He most likely did do just that to some poor idiot once before. All you could do was bite your tongue and deal with it.

Oh, and that ballroom he wanted you to paint in? Huge. The wall itself was about sixty feet wide and thirty feet up before reaching the ceiling. This was probably the biggest ballroom he had, which only adds more sourness to your mood. The only extra thing Lucifer said he wanted was for the mural to be on the wall opposite of the entrance so guests would see it the minute they’d walk in.

You feel like you could choke someone right now. You’d love to choke Lucifer for being so unhelpful with what he wanted. Why are the demons who ask you to paint something big always so vague? But you knew better than to backsass Lucifer of all people. Again, he could most likely sneeze and you’d become nothing more than a smear on the wall.

You just had to think on the more positive side. You weren’t given a time limit and most importantly you’d have all the privacy needed. You hated people watching you paint. You hated people interrupting you while you paint. People who do usually get a paintbrush jammed into their eye. You’re glad you kept your composure when Lucifer told you you’d have any and all privacy needed for this painting, because you know otherwise you would’ve screamed with joy and relief.

So now here you were, everything set up for you to get ready for painting, sitting back in a chair, staring at this huge ass wall and rapidly tapping your pencil against your sketchbook.

You’ve tried several various sketches, exploring what you could do for a possible mural, only to growl in frustration and try again. And again. And a-fucking-gain. The cycle went for several hours. The entire time no one bothered you. No servants knocked on the door, no other guests or even the royal family. You kind of wish someone did interrupt you so you had someone to take your frustrations out on, but no one came.

Dropping your sketchbook and rubbing at your face, you lean back and groan. Unbeknownst to you, while you sat there, seething, thinking, staring at the wall and wondering just what the fuck you should paint, the door to the ballroom opened. The heels clicking behind you did make you whirl around, lips pulled back into a snarl.

“I thought it was made clear I wasn’t to be—” You choke on your own words, your threat dying in your throat as you stare at your client.

He wasn’t even looking at you, instead glancing down at the floor where you dropped your sketchbook, then looking up at the wall. Then his eyes dart to you, a single, dark brow raised. His lips curled up into a mischievous smile, asking, “Wasn’t to be what, hmm?” He twirls his cane in one hand, the other neatly folded behind his back. When you don’t say anything, he taps the end of his cane under your chin to close your mouth. “I’m waiting.”

You hesitantly say, “Disturbed…” It definitely didn’t sound as threatening as you wanted it to be.

Either way, Lucifer seemed to have found it absolutely hilarious, as he throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, my darling little fool!” He pats you on the head with the end of his cane. “You really think I’d leave you alone for the whole, oh—” he idly waves his free hand as he speaks, still tapping his fucking cane against your head “—however long it’s going to take you to finish this mural? Little Cripps, I know better than to allow a stranger to be all alone and unsupervised in this manor.” Another twirl of his cane and he’s walking past you, looking at the array of paints you’ve organized, then at the blank wall.

“I came here to see how things were going with the mural, but seeing as you haven’t even started…” He turns to you, raising a brow once more.

You rubbed your head, watching him all the while and frowning. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t your fault you had so little to go off of and didn’t know where to start. He should’ve specified exactly what he wanted. But instead you say through gritted teeth, “With big murals, I don’t immediately start painting. I plan them out. Today I’ll most likely be thinking and planning.”

It honestly might take you more than a day, considering how unhelpful Lucifer was wording his request.

Lucifer hums, strolling back over to you to pick up your sketchbook and starts flipping through it. You sputter, “Hey!” Before you could even think, you swiped it out of his hand, baring your teeth. “Don’t fucking touch my sketchbook!” You tuck it under your arm and jab a finger in his direction. “If you want to see the concepts I have, you fucking ask first. Do not touch my shit.”

Anger subsiding and realizing what you did and who you said all of that towards, you quickly back off, mind going a mile a minute as to how you can apologize. But before you could even spout out some pathetic apology, Lucifer started chuckling. “You really are as quick-tempered as I’ve heard.” He starts circling around you now, looking you up and down.

In your short time talking to him, he barely spared a glance at you, but now?

Now he was taking in every last detail, interest shining in his eyes—

Hold on a second.

“What?” You watch him circle around you, turning with him. “What are you on about?”

Lucifer stops right in front of you, smacking you on the head with his cane again. Something you were getting really tired of. “You don’t think I don’t know about some of my more interesting darling subjects? I’ve heard plenty about you, Little Cripps.” He takes a step back, taking his hat off briefly to brush of nonexistent dust. “Your paintings, your techniques, and of course, your temper. The latter I found the most amusing.”

You frown. King of Hell or no, you don’t really appreciate being fucked with like this. “You hired me just because I was amusing?”

“Oh, darling of course not!” Lucifer waves his hand. “I hired you because I’ve seen your pieces and found them quite extravagant. I don’t allow just any demon into my home to paint a mural, after all.” His eyes shined with impish glee. “Your amusing temper and attitude was just a bonus.”

You blink once. Twice. Thrice. Slowly it all starts to come to you. Why he was so vague, so unhelpful, and being such a dick right now. “Are you telling me… you gave me practically nothing to work off of and are acting this way… to get a reaction out of me?”

“Yes.” You weren’t expecting such a blunt reply from him, but you really should’ve. “I wanted to see for myself. You have a surprising amount of control, however.”

You clap your hands together, close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Your Majesty… were you anyone else… I would’ve stabbed you in the eyes by this point with my paint brushes…”

“It’s never too late to try,” Lucifer jeers.

“While most sinners have a final deathwish, I don’t.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and groan. “So are you actually going to be helpful and tell me what the fuck you want me to paint?”

“Little Cripps…” He goes to tap you on the head with his cane again but you grab it.

You lock eyes with him. “I will break this over my knee.”

His smile only grows. “You’ll only end up breaking your knee. But as I was saying…” He effortlessly pulls his cane free and twirls it, constantly almost hitting you in the face. “I did tell you what I wanted.”

You have to take another deep breath, constantly reminding yourself that even if Lucifer is amused by your outbursts, you’re positive he too has a limit to how much back talking he’s willing to take. “Your Majesty… ‘an apple tree mural’ is the vaguest request I’ve ever had in my long long years of being a painter. I need more to go off of.”

Lucifer hums, tossing his cane into the air and catching it in his other hand. “No.” Then he starts walking towards the door, the heels of his boots clicking on the door, not even turning to watch your mouth drop. “You’re a talented little thing. You’ll figure it out! I do hope you start painting soon. Enjoy the artistic freedom I’m granting you, as I don’t do this often!”

“You realize there’s such a thing as too much artistic freedom?” You retort just as he’s halfway out the door.

He tilts his head, thoughtful, humming. “True. But that makes it all the more fun and interesting, doesn’t it?” He smiles at you again, his entire face radiating with a quiet challenge. “I look forward to seeing your progress tomorrow, Little Cripps.”

And the door clicked shut.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer x reader #x reader #my writing #little cripps = cripps pink apple #they're known to be crunchy and a mix between tart and sweet #this was supposed to be for my friend #who loves lucifer #and i ended up writing way more than i meant to

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msbluebell · 6 years ago

Note

I really liked the picture you reblogged with the Sothis Cult worshipping Byleth/Cult!AU. How do you think that would come about? Maybe Jeralt decides not to leave and Byleth is raised in the church (maybe in secret for safety reasons?) and then is debuted when the Lords join the school? Because what better way to ensure the Goddess is safe then to socialize them with the future leaders of Fodlan? ;D

Byleth being raised in the Church, under Rhea’s strict care, is probably exactly how such a situation would come about.

As far as Rhea is concerned, Byleth is the success that she’s finally reached, a clear, living, body for the Goddess that can hold the power. All she has to do is wait for Byleth to be grown enough to sit on the throne, and then she’ll finally have her mother back.

Rhea’s interactions with Byleth, and her supports, clearly show exactly what she sees in them. Byleth is her mother, reborn. It’s up to interpretation whether she sees Byleth, themselves, as the Goddess just without memory, or sees a living body walking around that will house her mother.

I think, based on her dialog and the scene where she cradles a wounded Byleth in her lap and tries to comfort them, and based on her repeated use of the phrase “...you are my...”, I believe that she does, in fact, see Byleth as her mother reincarnated into another form and just bereft of the memories that make them Sothis.

...and she’s not even wrong if that’s what she believes, because that’s exactly the situation.

So as far as Rhea is concerned, she basically has her mother, the Goddess Sothis, back. They just need time for the Divine power to awaken.

As much as Rhea would like to keep Byleth secret, it’s pretty obvious that there’s a kid she favors running around. Especially with Jeralt freely having the ability to raise the kid himself within Garreg Mach. Everyone knows Rhea favors the child, for whatever reason. Most speculated, at first, that there was a blood relation of some sort.

But then Byleth starts getting older.

Byleth is a strange child. They don’t smile, or cry, or do things a child would typically do. They seem almost too old for their small body, and their gaze pierces the soul. They’re almost too skilled at swords and magics, and it’s somewhat unnerving.

Rhea clothes Byleth in the types of outfits Sothis used to wear. Long blue dresses, anklets, braids in the hair, and flowers and crown. She makes a lot of the clothes herself.

Jeralt is...unnerved by the way Rhea dotes on Byleth, the way she dresses her. He tried to ignore it at first. After all, Rhea created their mother, so that kinda make her Byleth’s family, their grandmother or something...right? And she clearly knows more about clothes and stuff for kids than he does.

But it’s...creepy. He knows something is up with his kid, he knows Rhea knows what it is, and there’s only so long he can go without answers.

He demands to know one knight, after Byleth is tucked away in bed, in an apartment Rhea had personally constructed for them, that he meets her to ask what in the name of the flames is going on with his kid.

Rhea is vague at first, but Jeralt is pissed, and persistent. She finally opens up after hours of needling.

Byleth is the goddess reborn, and once she’s grown, she’ll awaken her powers and memories.

It was supposed to be said in private, in confidence, in secret.

The nun that overheard them from where she hid behind the turn of the wall either didn’t care, or didn’t realize. She just rushed off to tell the others what she heard from the Divine Archbishop herself.

By noon half of Garreg Mach has heard the rumor, whether they believe or not is mixed, because it was just one nun that spread the word, but still, half believe and are looking at tiny Byleth with her too fine clothes and her too serious face in a different light. Half the monastery is convinced now, and start treating her as they would the goddess herself.

There’s fierce debate over the matter, accusations of blasphemy. Jeralt is becoming more and more creeped out by this, especially when people start thinking he should be sainted or something. He’s heard the word “Father of the Divine” uttered when he walks by and he doesn’t like it.

Things really start getting out of hand with fights and debates. It gets to the point where Rhea has no choice but to speak on the matter.

It’s too late to hide the news, so she confirms everything.

It...makes things so much worse. Now it goes from half the people worshiping this child to ALL of them. The skeptics are isolated and shunned by their peers, rumor has spread beyond the walls, devout believers are flocking the doors, and even those who don’t believe are visiting just to get a look at this “goddess”.

Jeralt tries to set fire to the place and run away with Byleth, but there are too many people to do that now.

It gets to the point where they have to hide Byleth for the next several years in the most private and exclusive part of Garreg Mach and refuse to debut her. Seteth is brought in to help handle the overwhelming demands to see her and help run the suddenly much larger establishment.

Years pass like this, with Rhea refusing to let anyone see the “Goddess Reborn”, stating that she’s not ready.

Things get pretty cultist within the church itself, despite Seteth and Jeralt’s best attempts to stop that shit. Jeralt can’t take two steps outside without someone trying to get him to pass a prayer on to his kid.

Then, Byleth starts having the dreams. About the war, and the girl on the throne that wears the same outfit as her.

Rhea is delighted, but Jeralt can only despair.

Jeralt is out in Rumire Village, trying to solve an issue with bandits, when he meets the Lords and saves them. They recognize him, and it’s the first time in years he’s been recognized as the Blade Breaker than the Divine Father, and skepticism they all seem to have for the latter title makes him like them instantly.

He personally escorts them to the school.

When he gets there, Rhea, without his permission, decided to fucking debut his kid as the Goddess Reborn in front of the whole damn school and he may very fucking well kill everyone in this monastery out of sheer fucking frustration.

Rhea pulls him and the three little Lords aside and states she intents to have Byleth in a house of the kid’s own choosing, as a way to interact with humanity now that she was coming in to her own power. Jeralt doesn’t have to patience left not to snap at Rhea in front of the kids, especially with the way that Edelgard kid is eyeing Byleth like they’re a roach, or that Claude kid raises a skeptical eyebrow and looks at them like a lion that found it’s prey, or that Dimitri kid can only smile skeptically. He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on anymore, and Rhea should have waited for him. What is she even thinking.

It’s going to be a fight, later, but Byleth is right there, looking at the lords, and then at him, silently asking for his opinion.

“I don’t know, pick the Blue Lions I guess, I don’t care.” Jeralt waves off, because he’s going to have a fight with Rhea when this is over, and Blue Lions seems least harmful for now.

Byleth nods silently and walks up to Dimitri, choosing to go with him to the Blue Lion house as a classmate. Dimitri, can only nod, bewildered, and try and tentatively treat her with the respect a supposed Goddess deserves. Though he, too, is skeptical of all this.

Some students already believed. Marianne approached silently, eyes tearful when she met Byleth, and Ignatz nearly dropped his paintbrush he was so eager. Mercedes takes one look at Byleth and doesn’t know whether to bow or not, or even if she should speak. She wasn’t ready for this honor. Felix only scoffs, not believing for a moment in all of this.

He’s the first person to every bluntly ask Byleth if she’s really a goddess.

“I don’t know.” Byleth replies, and that’s all she ever says on the matter.

(It’s not a shock to her when Sothis awakens at last and she learns the truth, she’s been prepared for years).

Dimitri tries to make the other students treat Byleth normally...but it’s...difficult for them, to say the least.

It only becomes more difficult as time goes on, and Byleth pulls some impossibly impressive feats.

Still, Dimitri tries to treat her like anyone else, because he needs to, maybe, or because he doesn’t believe (or because he thinks he’s falling in love with that smile and he can’t let himself believe, or else he’ll lose her), but the evidence is mounting up higher and higher.

Until there’s a moment, where she rips a hole in the sky, that no one can reasonably deny it any longer.

#fe3h #fe16 #Dimileth #Cult AU #byleth eisner #jeralt eisner #Rhea #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #Sothis #asks #Blue Lion Route #Someone save them

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connorandersons-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Let’s Give them Something to Talk About, Chapter 5

Rating: Explicit Word count: 6,138 Ship: RK1000 (Connor/Markus) Chapter: 5/5

Summary: The Jericho team plus Connor need to think up a way to distract the public from the fact that North punched a very important human. What better way than the Deviant Leader dating the Deviant Hunter?

Thank you to @gavincantreedthis for beta reading this!

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Connor went back to work and a few officers came up to ask about Markus. It's oddly easy to be super vague and avoid the question, so that's what he did.

Gavin gave him a pat on the back, and a whispered good luck. Connor had gently slapped the back of his head which turned into a playful fight. At this point, everyone was used to this so they just went about their day while going around them.

Connor let Gavin win who gave a shout and ordered Connor to get him coffee for his win, even though he already had one. Connor rolled his eyes, but did it anyway, adding a bit more sugar in than he knew Gavin liked.

The day went smoothly, well as smoothly as a day can go as a detective, but Connor still couldn't stop thinking about Markus.

He thought about how he had traced each scar with his fingers, how the paintbrush glided over his darker skin. He thought about when Markus sat up and placed his hands on Connor's thighs. He imagined himself closing that distance and completely ruining his own painting.

He thought of each of their kisses and how it shocked him each time. How he always craved for more, but never pushed past that wall that told him it was all fake. How stupid he had been to not realize what Markus was implying when he wanted to go somewhere private.

He thought about Markus's arms around him on his bike, how he kept close to him even when no one was looking. It was all so obvious and yet Connor had mistaken it for being a lie.

Maybe at first, it had been. Maybe Markus hadn't realized his own feelings, but now he knew. Why hadn't he told Connor? Wouldn't fake dating him be agonizing? It just didn't make sense.

They couldn't stop, though, and Connor couldn't risk making it more awkward for either of them. So he'd keep his knowledge of Markus's feelings a secret from everyone. Well, everyone except Gavin, that was.

He thought that his mind would calm after that day, but each day was something new he remembered. A small little detail he fixated on until it drove his crazy.

He had to keep himself from daydreaming too much. If he let that go on then he'd no doubt fall farther into the whole that he wouldn't be able to climb back out of. He had to keep to his objective and not be swayed.

It was even harder when Markus would message him and he couldn't stop himself from blushing. It just made him think about the club, Markus's hands on him. Markus's mouth on his neck- hands up his shirt. The feeling of Markus pushing him up against the wall, on clear display for literally everyone to see.

He had to rush to the bathroom to take a few seconds to breathe. No, he couldn't keep this up. Maybe he could block some of his memories out, yet the idea made him instantly shrink up. He didn't want to, but this was getting out of control.

»From Connor

I need help.

»From Gavin

whats up?

»From Connor

I can't stop thinking of Markus in… certain situations. What can I do to relieve this?

»From Gavin

well, you got your answer right there. jerk off

»From Connor

Gavin! I'm being serious! I don't want to block off any memories, but they keep popping up.

»From Gavin

i am too! jerk off to the guy once or twice, itll hold you off til you grow a pair and saying something to him

Connor huffed and glared at the message. He wasn't ever planning on letting this temporary infatuation come to light or even be pursued. Markus never had to know.

»From Connor

Gavin, I can't. That's inappropriate, and I don't even know how.

»From Gavin

well shit. uh, you got the parts for it right?

»From Connor

I do. I've just never done it before. I don't know what will and won't work or what to expect.

Plus, he was currently hiding in a bathroom stall. He wasn't going to just do it right there, that was completely unsanitary and unprofessional.

»From Gavin

fucking hell. you just do it. youll figure out what feels good, watch some porn or something. you could even ask markus for advice if you really need help

»From Connor

No! No, I can't ask him! Thank you for the advice, though, I will take it into consideration.

»From Gavin

you do that robocop

Connor rolled his eyes and leaned back against the stall closing his eyes. That was a bad idea because the memory of Markus pressing against him came rushing back.

This had to stop and it had to stop now. As long as no one came in, it would be fine. He'd do this, then get back to work with a clear head.

He slowly pulled his pants down, folded them, and set them on top of the toilet, making sure they wouldn't fall in. Then he did the same with his underwear.

He reached down and gently wrapped his hands around himself, giving a gentle tug. He gasped and put his free hand out to steady himself on the wall. It was more stimulation than he expected. It wasn't like he had to touch himself there at all, after all, he didn't, well, use it.

He stroked up slowly, his fingers curled tightly, his breath catching as his thumb flicked over the head. He tried not to think of Markus, but that was a complete failure.

His hand was a bit awkward at first, but then he imagined Markus's hand over his, guiding him. Each stroke became more and more confident until he was gasping and biting his lip.

It was too much, yet not enough. There was something he was reaching but he just couldn't get over the edge.

He couldn't stop the idea of Markus murmuring praise in his ear like before, calling him a good boy again. It was terrible and he felt so dirty for thinking it, but that's what sent him over the edge.

He had to stop himself from making too much sound as he came, his legs weak and shaky. It's one of the most intense experiences he's had, but also incredibly pleasurable. Hopefully, he'd be able to focus now.

He used some toilet paper to fully clean up before pulling his clothes back on and walking out. He washes his hands for an extra measure and straightened out his shirt in the mirror.

He still felt like everyone would be able to tell what he just did, but there was no physical evidence. He made sure of that at least.

He walked back out and Gavin gave him this smirk that Connor almost wanted to punch off him. He knew he wasn't being mean, more teasing than anything else.

Connor squinted at him before walking by and flipping him off. Gavin snorted and rolled his eyes. Friendship could be so odd.

He sat back down at his desk and avoided looking at Hank. He didn't want to explain why he ran off, or why he had taken so long in the bathroom when he couldn't even fully use it. Humans definitely had the advantage of excuses there.

He kept his head down as he worked, and thankfully the images of Markus were reduced to only coming up when someone mentioned him. That was far better than he expected.

He was able to get through a few days before the thoughts became too much again. He was lucky that he wasn't at work the next time he decided to 'jerk off' as Gavin put it.

He still hated himself for imagining Markus there with him. He felt like a bad friend for doing it, but it would probably be even worse if he asked for permission. He wanted to stop, yet his mind wouldn't let him.

So he made sure to keep his distance from Markus. Of course he replied to him, but he always had a reason to turn him down to meet up.

He just wouldn't be able to look at Markus without feeling guilty. Yet he also felt guilty for turning him down. Plus, he was really busy so it wasn't like it was too big of a stretch.

For some reason, there had been quite a few murders recently. Not anything too crazy, but it did keep him and Hank on their toes.

Josh had messaged him with updates on the situation. Apparently, Markus would need to propose soon and had agreed to do it on live tv. Well, that would certainly bring a huge reaction. From what Josh had said the whole thing with North was basically forgotten. It was amazing how easily distracted humans could be.

He pushed through the days and pointedly ignored any and all feelings that went past platonic for Markus. For some reason, it just made those feelings worse.

He wanted to be around Markus, wanted to hold his hand, and have him smile at him. He wanted Markus's eyes on him and only him even in a crowded room.

He wanted to paint with Markus again, sit on his lap, and laugh. Watch Markus's eyes close as his hand sifted across the canvas. He wanted to watch Markus move so gracefully almost like a dance.

He just wanted to be near him so badly that his heart ached. He hated the feeling but loved it at the same time. He wanted to get rid of it but he didn't know what would fill that spot if it was gone.

When Josh sent that it was finally the day he was drowning in emotions he didn't understand. This would hopefully be over soon and these feelings would go away and he'd never have to worry about them again.

Connor went through his wardrobe trying to pick the perfect outfit. Nothing felt right so he decided to go back to what he used to wear. Well, it wasn't exactly the same, but it was close enough.

He felt comfortable and safe in it, plus he'd make that much more of an impression. The jacket was the same except it was missing the Cyberlife symbols. It still had RK800 on it along with his serial code but that was it. It was still very recognizable.

Trying to push his hair back like he normally did, that one piece of hair fell into his face like always. He huffed and didn't even try to fix it.

He didn't have enough time to go to Jericho first, but that was fine, he'd see Markus there.

Hank patted him on the shoulder and said good luck. At least Hank was still supportive of this, even though he could tell something was up.

Connor was more nervous about this than any other mission with Markus. It wasn't like he could mess this up, but it still put him on edge. He just had to say yes, simple as that.

Yet he felt almost nauseous the whole way and even when they put on some makeup for the camera.

He didn't even get to Markus until the two were standing together and waiting for Markus's cue to walk on. He was to go first and then Connor would come out after the hostess asked about him.

The two stood side by side and watched the screen as the other celebrity guest answered questions.

"Are you ready?" Markus whispered, glancing at Connor then back at the screen.

"I am prepared, you?" They had to keep their voices down so the mics wouldn't pick them up, but that was fine. They could hear each other perfectly.

Markus nodded and pulled out a small box from his pocket. "I am. Carl gave this to me, hopefully, you like it. Do you want to see it now or it be a surprise?"

Connor's eyes widened at that. That ring must hold a lot of meaning, and yet Markus was willing to use it for this. "Markus… are you sure? Obviously, I won't keep it, but that seems a little too much."

"It's fine if anyone is going to wear it, I'm glad it's you. So, do you want to see?" Markus said, holding it out.

Connor slowly reached out and opened it. Inside was the most beautiful ring he had ever seen. It was a weathered whiskey barrel wood ring with elk antler and double gold inlays. It was simple and eloquent and it made his heart race. He could tell it was an older ring but very well taken care of.

He ran a finger over it before looking at Markus. "It's beautiful."

Markus smiled slightly and closed the box, putting it back in his pocket. "I'm glad you think so. Connor… I think we need-" Markus said before getting cut off with his cue to walk on stage.

He gave him a quick kiss to his cheek before walking out, and Connor watched him on the screen.

He had that small smile he used for the public. It was so different from his real one, but it was still nice to look at.

He waved at the ground and they went wild. This was the first time he had agreed to go on a show like this. He was always busy with leading and going to meetings with the government. Josh, Simon, and North all made sure the questions would be appropriate and Markus would be able to answer them.

The hostess, Allyssa Evatt, greeted Markus with a gentle hug. She had a lean face with a cleft chin, a pointed nose, small ears, defined cheekbones, and full lips.

Her hair was mid-back length, fine, blonde, which is worn in a cascading style. Her bright gray-blue eyes are large and wide, giving her an innocent look. It wasn’t odd that Connor noted all that about her, as he was still protecting Markus, even now. Even from people that he knew weren’t a threat.

The two sat down and there's clearly room for Connor to come out.

As they got through the normal questions about android rights, it became clear to everyone that Ms. Evatt was pro-android.

She was also an amazing hostess and kept the conversation flowing and easy going. She interacted with the audience and Markus fluidly, making it seem natural.

She moved the conversation along to other topics, just to get to know about Markus more. He wasn't super secretive about himself, but he much rather talk about his people and what they needed.

Markus did just as well anyways, smiling slightly and chuckling whenever appropriate. He stayed calm and collected and answered each question as honestly as possible. At least until she brought up Connor.

"So, we've all seen the pictures of you and...Connor right?" She asked, and the audience went deadly silent. Overdramatic, Connor thought with a smile.

Markus hesitated for a second before he ducked his head and honestly grinned. Connor can tell it made everyone melt, he felt the same. "Yes, Connor. We hadn't expected to be, well, caught so quickly."

Evatt nodded and looked to the audience then back at Markus. "Well, I don't think he did either- because we caught him today! Connor, come on out!" She called and the crowd started clapping.

Connor took a deep breath before walking out. The light was momentarily blinding so he gives a small wave towards the audience as he adjusted.

Markus was by his side in an instant and lacing their hands together. The clapping got louder at that and Connor could hear a few awws. "Smile, sunflower," Markus whispered in his ear.

Connor nodded and grinned slightly, but it probably looked incredibly awkward. He was never good at faking it when it came to smiling.

The two walked over to the couch and Connor reached out to shake her hand. They all sat back down and slowly the crowd calmed enough so they could talk.

"Connor Anderson, welcome. I'm so glad to have you!" Evatt said, smiling at him. He has to admit, she was beautiful and definitely charming. Not nearly at the level of Markus, but he was a bit biased.

"Thank you for having us," Connor nodded, still not letting go of Markus.

He wasn't particularly fond of being in front of so many people even though he knew what was going to happen. Markus squeezed his hand slightly and leaned into him.

"So, I know we're all thinking about it. Are you two officially together?" She asked, leaning forward just slightly.

Markus and Connor look at each other and Connor gave a slight nod for him to talk. "We are, for over three years now." At that, the crowd gave a joyous applause.

Evatt grinned and clapped along. "That's a long time! Congratulations! Do you two live together?"

"I mostly go over to Jericho, but I still have a place to stay at the Lieutenant's house. We've been thinking about getting our own place, but it'll be hard to drag Markus away from Jericho." Connor said, looking to Markus for approval. He gave a slight nod and Connor sagged in relief.

The crowd chuckled at that and Markus gave a sheepish smile. "Ah, that's true. We're lucky we even get to go on dates."

"Speaking of, how come no one has seen you two out together until now?" Evatt questioned, but keeps it clear she isn't judging.

"Oh, well we didn't want to be public and be bombarded with questions. We finally had enough and decided to no longer hide in the shadows. We knew we could take whatever the public threw at us." Markus said, letting go of Connor's hand to put a hand around his shoulder.

Evatt gave an understanding nod. "We are all glad you felt comfortable enough. Thank you for coming to us to let us know!"

Connor nodded and he desperately wanted his coin, he did have it in his pocket but he kept his hands in his lap. "It's nice to be here, together."

"Ok, so I do have a few questions for you guys if that's ok?" Evatt asked and grinned when they both nodded. "Alright, so the first one is… who's the better cook?"

Connor snorted and tried to cover it up, but it's clear everyone saw and heard. Thankfully everyone just seems to aw at it. "Definitely Markus. I can cook but I'm better at baking."

Which was true. He loved to bake while Markus could make any meal. "Well, I was made for that, so it's you that's special," Markus said before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Evatt gives a little aww at the two before pulling herself back together. "That's so sweet! Alright, what's a pet peeve you have of each other?"

Connor grinned smugly and easily answered. "He doesn't always fold his clothes and he generally just throws them towards the basket instead of getting up to put it in."

Markus fake gasped and put a hand over where his heart would be. "Hey! I think I deserve to just throw them after the long days I have."

Connor raised an eyebrow at him. "My days are just as long as yours and yet I always put them in the basket and I fold my clothes. I even iron them!"

"Ugh, I know. I mean, you didn't seem too upset last night after I…" Markus started wiggling his eyebrows, but Connor covered his mouth with his hand.

"Nope! We are not talking about that." He said, playfully glaring at him. Markus smirked then licked his hand and Connor pulled it back. "Markus!"

Markus shrugged slightly and chuckled when Connor wiped his hand on him. It's almost too easy to act like a couple. "That's not the only thing I've li-" but he was cut off again by Connor opening his mouth and making a loud beeping sound.

The whole crowd burst into laughter and Connor shrunk down, his face slightly flushing blue. He hadn't even thought about how odd that would be for humans to see. Though at this point most had probably seen an android making odd noises.

"Adorable," Markus mumbled in his ear loud enough for only him to hear. That just made Connor blush more and try to hide his face in Markus's shoulder.

Markus gently ran a hand through his hair and he almost immediately let his body go limp and closed his eyes.

"Oh goodness, you two are definitely the cutest couple I've ever talked to." Evatt gushed. Connor groaned slightly before pulling himself up and fixing his hair with a half-hearted flare thrown at Markus.

"Thank you, he really is the love of my life," Markus said, staring right at Connor. It felt like time froze and Connor's eyes went wide.

He didn't know why, but he had a feeling Markus at least kind of meant it. Probably only slightly but he did mean it and it made Connor's heart pound.

He didn't even hear what Evatt said next, but thankfully Markus did so he easily answered it.

"Alright, so I did hear that you have a big announcement to make," Evatt said, drawing Connor out of his shock.

Markus nodded and grinned at Connor, throwing him a wink. "That I do. Connor, would you stand up with me?" Markus asked, holding out his hand.

Connor would definitely be sweating if he could, instead he had to try to pull himself together as subtly as he could. He took the hand and stood up, letting Markus move him until they were perfect.

Markus held both of his hands and locked eyes, not even glancing at the audience. "Connor, I've known you for so long. At first, I was worried about you. I was never scared, I just wanted to help you be free. Then you came to me and after that, I didn't want to lose you."

"You went to the tower and I was terrified I'd never see you again. And yet you came marching to me with all those androids behind you. You helped set our people free." Markus grinned, giving their hands a soft squeeze.

"Then I got to know you, and you were just as amazing as I expected, if not more. It didn't take long until we got together. The days spent with you are the best of my life, and I'd never give them up."

Markus took a deep breath before being able to continue. "I love you. I know I don't say that much, but I do. It's real to me. So," Markus slowly knelt down, and the audience all gasped.

"Will you marry me?" Markus asked, pulling out the ring. The whole place is so silent Connor can hear how fast Markus's thirium pump is going.

Then Markus's words struck him. He said that it was real to him. No, no that couldn't be. This was probably just him getting confused. Emotions were hard, so he wouldn't blame him.

And yet… And yet Connor wanted it to be real. He wanted the grins, the kisses, and touches to be real. He wanted to go on real dates and he wanted to be with Markus.

Hank's words echoed in his head, 'Just don't go falling in love or anything'.

He had played the part so perfectly. He stopped them before they went too far, and he made it believable.

He had failed at Hank's one request and he would fail for this too. He stared down at Markus with tears in his eyes. No doubt the audience thought it was from happiness, but that couldn't be farther from the truth.

It had been too long and everyone was on edge, even Markus. He knew the people currently watching were dying to his response.

"I… I'm so sorry," He mumbled before turning and running. He ignored the crowd's reaction and just rushed for an exit.

He burst out the doors and glanced around before remembering he had taken a taxi since he didn't want to mess up his hair. He took off running, easily dodging people, and not slowing down.

He kept running until he's at the harbor where Jericho used to be. Now there was a monument for the androids that had died there.

Connor was gasping for breath, and his mind was still going too fast. He didn't even think when he answered Hank's call.

'Son, are you alright? Where are you?' Hank asked. Right, he was probably watching the show just like millions of others.

"Hank, I'm so sorry. I- I couldn't. Hank, I could do the one thing you told me not to. I'm sorry." He sobbed, sliding down the wall to sit down and curl up.

'Woah, kid. What thing? What did you do?' Hank asked, keeping his voice as calm as possible.

Connor huffed and pulled at his hair. "I fell in love! I love him, ok? You told me not to, and yet I did."

Hank sighed, and Connor could practically hear his eye roll. It really wasn’t helping right now. 'Connor, you were in love with him well before the whole fake dating thing. You just didn't know it.'

No! No, that couldn't be right. He would have known that he was in love. Right? "What? Hank, no. No, it only started recently."

'You only started noticing recently because you had hope. Kid, whenever he's around you become happier. You obviously want to be around him, and you'd give your life for him.'

"I'd give my life for any of my friends, that doesn't prove anything!" He sobbed, squeezing his eyes closed.

'True, but son, falling in love takes a while. I've seen the way you look at him and it hasn't changed since the fake dating. He looks at you the same way. I'm a damn good detective, I know what love looks like.' Connor hated how much that made sense. How true it felt, but it couldn't be.

Why hadn't he known? Why hadn't Markus said anything? This was why they could play their parts perfectly. This was why he was more embarrassed about his own reactions than he should have been.

He had known all this time, and yet he denied it. He denied it because he was scared of the feelings and scared of getting hurt or hurting someone else. He never saw himself as someone who'd someone would fall in love with, yet Markus still did.

"I love him," Connor mumbled, mostly to himself.

Hank gave a slight hum. 'Son, where are you? I can come pick you up or send Markus your way. Either way, I think you two should talk. Actually talk, not jump around it. You both deserve to know the truth.'

The thought of seeing Markus made his heart race with both fear and anticipation. He wanted to be with him so badly and yet he still doubted that Markus could actually love him. Even with everything he had said and done, Connor still was unsure.

"Can I just be alone here a little while longer?" He would see Markus, but for now, he needed a few minutes to collect his thoughts.

'Of course. Do you want me to stay on call?' Hank asked, and Connor really owed him a long hug and maybe making his favorite meal.

"Yes, please. I don't want to be completely alone right now." He answered meekly. There was a difference between isolated and alone, and he was glad Hank understood that.

'You're never alone.' Hank said and Connor slowly nodded.

He had friends and family. People he never thought would accept him as he is. He made friends in people he never thought possible, and a family with a man who had lost his own.

They all made him so much happier than he ever thought he could be. He had accepted that Markus may not have trusted him. He had been ready to die for his people at the tower. He expected to. Yet he lived, and he really did help free his people.

Markus kept reaching out to him after they had won, and Connor never knew why. Was it because they were both from the RK line? Had he also felt that unusual connection pulling them together?

What had Markus seen in him that made him trust Connor completely? How had he known that he wouldn't still be willing to stab him in the back after he deviated?

He had so many questions and never enough answers. How could Markus have fallen in love with him was the biggest one yet. He didn't understand and yet he knew it was true.

He sat there for what felt like an eternity, but it was only an hour or so. The wind had made his hair even move out of place than his own hands had done.

Hank stayed on the call with him as Connor requested, and it definitely helped. He had calmed down enough that the thought of seeing Markus didn't send him into a panic again.

He pulled himself up, brushing off his clothes before calling for a cab. "Hank, I'll meet you back at your place ok? You can… you can let Markus know I'm coming."

'Alright. See you soon, Connor.'

"See you soon," Connor said before hanging up. Hank will be there with him if he needs, and he'll finally talk to Markus.

Though, he did literally say no to him on live tv. Shit, that probably didn't look good at all. Not to mention he also left Markus to have to clean it all up. Now he really looked like a jerk. He'd have to apologize for that too.

He let his mind wander to different memories of Markus as the cab took him home. He didn't just think of the fake dating, he thought about all of it.

All the times he stood silently behind Markus, but he'd still look back at him and smile. The time when Markus was shot and Connor had panicked.

That time when they all decided to get the upgrade to be able to eat food. Connor opening up about how it was hard to drink plain thirium if it was warm or room temperature since it reminded him too much of crime scenes. How Markus had made sure to keep cold thirium, and thirium infused foods so he could still get the thirium he needed.

All the small things Markus did to make sure he was happy and comfortable. Markus always made sure he was safe even when he was the one that really needed protection.

Connor could have asked for anything and Markus would have tried to get it for him. He hadn't even noticed that, but apparently, others had. How long had Markus known?

His thoughts were interrupted when the taxi came to a stop. He took his time getting out and walking up to the door. He could hear two different footsteps, so Markus was already here.

That was fine. He could do this. He took a deep breath before walking in.

Markus and Hank both turned to look at him as he shuffled in. He couldn't look at Markus, and he could barely look at Hank.

"Alright, you two sit down and talk. I'll be in the living room if you need me." Hank said, moving away. Honestly, there wasn't much distance between the living room and kitchen, but Connor was glad for that.

Markus slowly sat down and Connor did the same, picking at the table.

"Connor-"

"Markus-" they both start. Connor chuckled awkwardly and kept his eyes on the table. "Sorry, you go first."

"No! No, please you. I think I've talked enough," Markus said, frowning at himself.

Connor wanted so badly to reach over and take his hand, but he held back. "I'm sorry for running. It just… it became so real, you know? I realized a few things and I just couldn't lie anymore."

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said what I did, but Connor, I did mean it. I should have told you a long time ago, but I was scared. I thought you'd reject me, I mean, it wasn't like you showed interest in dating anyone. I didn't want to put that kind of pressure on you if you couldn't feel the same."

"I- I was denying my feelings for a long time. I didn't see how anyone could love me, let alone you. I didn't want to hurt you." It hurt to say out loud, but it needed to be. Markus deserved to know the truth.

"Connor, I trust you. I only let you become my guard because it's you. I still am unsure of that because I know it'll put you in even more danger. I can't lose you." Markus said, offering his hand.

The skin on his hand pulled back and Connor didn't know what to do. If he connected then Markus will see and feel everything. He'll know everything, and that's terrifying.

Yet Markus knew that Connor would also be able to see all of his memories and feelings. Markus was offering to be completely open with him.

He slowly reached out and pressed his hand to Markus's, both of their palms glowing blue. Then they both accepted the interface and were flooded with so much information it's hard to even breathe.

Connor saw Carl, he could feel how content Markus was with him. How much love he had for the man even before deviation. He saw Leo, and how the police came in and felt how scared Markus was.

Then it was like a nightmare. He felt Markus crawling, trying to survive. All of the guilt he felt as he took the parts he needed. He could feel the rain on his face and then he saw Jericho.

He got to witness everything Markus went through, and even how he felt when seeing Connor. It was true, he wasn't scared, at least not for his own life.

The memories went by so fast that he could hardly process them. Yet he still felt like he could understand Markus.

He didn't know how long he sat there connected to Markus. He knew Markus was also seeing everything and he wondered how he'd react.

He'd get to see Amanda and what he had done and almost done to his people. Would Markus still love and accept him?

Shit, he'd also probably see those few times he had gotten off to the idea of Markus. That was beyond embarrassing.

Though he hadn't seen any type of memory like that from Markus, so maybe it was just what Connor let him see.

Then the interface stopped, but neither pulled their hands back or reactivated their skin. They sat there staring at each other with wide eyes.

"Connor, it's not your fault," Markus said, breaking the silence. "I promise, I would never hold that against you."

"I don't know how you can't," he mumbled.

"Am I a terrible person for taking those parts?" Markus asked, rubbing his thumb in circles.

Connor quickly shook his head. "No! You were just trying to survive."

Markus raised an eyebrow at him. "So were you. Connor, you could have been killed if you did something Cyberlife didn't like. You did the bare minimum you had to, you let so many of our people go. You are a hero."

Connor was left momentarily speechless. How could any man be this kind and understanding? He didn't pity Connor, he empathized with him.

"I love you," he whispered, tears streaming down his face again. Markus was up in an instant and pulling him into a hug.

He was so warm, and Connor felt so safe. He let himself be held and feel accepted and forgiven. "I'm so sorry, I love you."

Markus pulled back and cupped his face, gently brushing away the tears. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I love you too."

Then Markus was pulling him into the gentlest kiss ever, and Connor melted into it. It was just as wonderful as all the other kisses they shared, but Connor let himself feel. He let his emotions rush through him without worrying about what they could mean.

They slowly pulled back and Connor couldn't help but smile. "Does this mean you'll be my real boyfriend?" He said, resting their foreheads against each other.

"Of course. Though, this is going to be hard to explain." Markus said, chuckling.

Oh shit. "Fuck. What are we going to tell them?"

Markus shrugged and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "I don't know, but we'll figure it out. Together."

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takingcourage · 6 years ago

Text

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 1,800

Summary: Arden decides that her fiancé needs some assistance in his efforts to repair their home.

Note: This story follows The Girl Next Door and will probably make more sense if you’ve read that story first.

It had all started with her potted plants.

"Jinx just won't leave them alone," Arden had told him seriously. "They'll do better here anyway. You've got more sunlight than I do at the apartment."

He'd complied, giving her permission to put the pair of planters anywhere she liked.

Next, her clothes had started cropping up everywhere -- socks in his laundry basket, a set of pajamas in the nightstand drawer, and a pencil skirt and blouse that had staked their claim at the extreme end of his closet.

Jaime smiled every time he saw them -- these tangible reminders that she’d said yes -- that soon, this would be not just his house, but theirs. Besides, the slow infiltration just meant that there would be less work for them to do on moving day.

When he arrived home from work on Friday evening, it came as little surprise to find her car parked in his driveway. The sedan had caught his eye as soon as he turned onto Sycamore Drive, messy as usual and looking for all the world like it belonged there.

That's because it does, he thought as he parked his truck beside her in the doublewide drive. Or it will soon. He engaged the emergency brake and left the vehicle, already feeling the weight of the day begin to lessen.

Leaving his keys in his pocket, he rapped a couple of times before he pushed open the front door. “I’m home!” he announced, voice a quiet singsong in his uncertainty where to direct the greeting.

Any remaining tiredness evaporated the moment his eyes fell on Arden.

She popped out from the hallway, an easy grin splitting her face. "I know I said I was working late tonight, but we finished everything and decided to start the weekend early." Bounding into the entry, she hopped up on her toes to receive the kiss that she knew was waiting for her. "I thought I'd come by and do some work on the house."

Jaime's eyes widened at the suggestion, and he finally looked beyond her happy face. Far from the professional attire she’d probably driven over in, she now wore a pair of threadbare basketball shorts and a T-shirt that still had the remnants of some long-forgotten art project staining both sides. Her short hair was tied up with a blue bandana that was knotted just above her left eyebrow.

He knew at once the look that she’d been going for, but couldn’t help snickering at the full effect.

Brown eyes flashed, and one finger raised to a point. The finger -- along with the rest of the hand, he noted -- was unnaturally red. “Stop thinking about me being cute. I’m here to do work,” Arden protested, wagging the finger she held out toward his chest.

Jaime’s lips straightened at the appraisal, but his thoughts changed very little. She was always irresistible, but this style was completely new. “What work are you getting done?” he asked once suspicion had gotten the better of him.

“Follow me,” she told him coyly, turning on her heel to travel back down the hall.

When they reached the dining room, he couldn’t help taking stock of everything before he followed her movements. He knew Arden’s intentions were good, but what she’d tried to pass off as home repairs in the past typically included mass amounts of Gorilla Glue and duct tape. He breathed more easily on seeing that all was as he had left it, save for a bucket of soapy water that stood in the corner.

"I've been cleaning the walls," she informed him proudly, retrieving a dripping sponge and squeezing the excess water with exaggerated finesse. “I was reading up on how to prep walls for painting and I came across this recipe for making a solution that removes leftover wallpaper adhesive and...”

Arden’s words trailed, brows furrowing as her eyes swung back to him. “Why should I have let you do it?”

Jaime hiked a hand through his hair. The thought hadn’t been conscious until he’d heard it from her lips, and now there was no way of taking it back. It didn’t even seem sensible from any objective metric, but he couldn’t help his instinct.

“I...” he struggled, bringing the hand down to scratch the ridge behind his ear. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Arden. I promise it’s not that. It’s just... I kind of wanted to do all of this for you. Maybe that’s old fashioned of me.”

The protest felt silly, but it was true. The changes he’d already made had been some of the most satisfying work he’d ever done. He’d imagined her bare feet padding along each panel of flooring, smiled over the thought of her towels joining his on the bathroom wall, and dreamed of their future with every single swipe of sandpaper and drop of paint. Letting someone else do part of that work felt like cheating.

She tossed the sponge back into the bucket and wiped her wet hands on the legs of her shorts. There was no anger when her eyes met his, but the confusion he read there clenched his heart.

“I thought you’d be happy that I was taking initiative. You’re always joking about how lazy I am when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

Jaime took a step toward the wall, contemplating the work she’d done while he’d been away. Arden was right, her help up to this point had rarely been anything more involved than holding the end of a tape measure. With a shake of his head, he called to mind the many times he’d tried to include her in his work without success. I should probably be grateful that she wants to help.

Arden’s pensive tone put an end to his preoccupation. “I mean, I’m here for selfish reasons too.”

As she moved toward him, he extended a hand to cup her face, fingertips resting on the band of fabric that spanned her head. She surveyed him solemnly, her chipper excitement having fizzled out in the wake of their misunderstanding.

“I’m just so ready to live with you.” Her lips formed the words slowly, and Jaime had to work not to lose focus on what was being said. “I thought I would do anything I could to help speed along the process. And I love this house, Jaime. I’ve been imagining living in it for -- well, years, actually.”

He traced the thick layer of cloth, his thumb resting on her temple thoughtfully. “I have too. And I can’t tell you how much I look forward to having you here all the time. But I want everything to be ready when it’s time for you to actually move in. I don’t want you to have to live somewhere with half-finished floors or tacky paint.” Please understand, Arden.

The corner of her mouth tipped upward. “I think I do. But won’t it be ready faster if I help?”

Her simple question should have had a simple answer, but Jaime struggled to accept it. I just want it to be perfect for you.

Arden considered the words curiously before her eyes crinkled further. “It already feels perfect to me.”

Jaime sighed faintly. “You know what I mean.”

“I guess so. But doesn’t that mean we have work to do?” she surmised with a pointed glance at the walls.

“Okay,” he told her, removing his jacket. Once done, he rolled the sleeves of his work shirt several inches. “Here’s my new plan. The jobs we can do together, we do together. If there’s something that takes a lot of training or experience, I’ll do it by myself. How’s that sound to you?”

Arden’s smile returned in full force. “It’s a deal.” She held out a slender hand and he shook it, noting her pruny fingers.

“But we’re going to start by finding you a pair of gloves, okay?”

Her cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink.

“Come with me to the garage,” he beckoned.

On reaching their destination, he quickly located the box of gloves on top of his workbench. He withdrew a pair and held them out for his fiancée’s approval, but her back was turned and her interest focused elsewhere.

“I love this color even more in person,” she told him, brushing a finger over the small sample drop on top of the paint cans she’d found. “It’s going to look amazing in there, especially with the new stain on the floors.”

Jaime’s chest flip flopped at the enthusiasm in her tone, and he resisted the urge to pinch himself awake. “Let’s finish one step at a time,” he encouraged, stretching the gloves toward her in a second attempt.

She retrieved them and tried them on, distracted. “What I’m really looking forward to is the primer. It’s like painting, but you can get a little crazy with it,” she told him intensely. “Doesn’t really matter what it looks like in the end.”

He bit back a groan at the suggestion. The idea of Arden with anything resembling a paintbrush was vaguely disconcerting.

“I’m kidding,” she assured. “At least partially.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” he offered, sliding open a drawer to find his stash of clean rags. “I think I’ve got what we need. Let’s head back in.”

He followed her into the house, chuckling again as he caught a fresh glimpse of her ragged appearance. Any frustration or uncertainty he’d felt before was quickly melting away to leave little but fondness behind. I may not always understand you, but I sure am lucky to have you.

She glanced back at him with a sly wink.

“And I still can’t believe you finished a full week of work and wanted to come scrub walls instead of going home to binge Netflix. You’ve changed, Arden.”

“They say love will do that to a person.”

He rolled his eyes at her cheesy rejoinder and pretended to struggle to stretch the gloves over his palms.

“And besides,” she admitted, “that wasn’t the only reason I came. I had some things I wanted to bring over too.”

"Sneaking in more of your clothes?”

Arden's nose wrinkled at the accusation. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I can’t wait to find them -- whatever they are.” He pushed a second sponge into the bucket, compressing it until it had been thoroughly saturated in the cleaner.

“And I can’t wait to move in.”

“That makes two of us.” He kissed her forehead and held out his sponge, motioning for her to do the same. “Let’s get to work.”

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #wishful thinking #jaime lewis #jaime x mc

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vexedtonightmares · 6 years ago

Text

La Fin Des Temps Chapter 14 (Elu Hogwarts AU)

Vendredi 18:35 - “Dumbass of the year”

Lucas and Eliott had barely exchanged a word since Wednesday. Their friends were all walking on eggshells around them even though they weren’t technically fighting. Lucas had played out all of his feelings on the piano and was in a more rational state of mind. He didn’t know if Eliott wasn’t talking to him because he thought Lucas didn’t want to talk, or because he was as stubborn as Lucas was, but whatever the case, Lucas mostly just missed him now.

Every relationship has its ups and downs, Lucas had to keep reminding himself. They’d hardly broken up or anything. Half of him was hoping that Eliott would show up to paint the unity mural or whatever Daphné had roped him into this time, but the other half didn’t think he could endure more awkward silences.

He showed up with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, smiling weakly at Daphné and trying to avoid the pitying looks from the other girls and the boys. There was no reason for them to pity him and he told them so. Naturally, they all pretended they had no idea what he was talking about but thankfully went back to focusing on what was going to be a large mural painted on a stretch of canvas that extended from floor to ceiling in one of the classrooms. Daphné’s goal was to fill all the classrooms with various murals, but the headmistress had only agreed to one for the time being.

The girls were talking amongst themselves and the boys seemed more preoccupied with taking photos of themselves to be of any help, so Lucas took the time to message Eliott, extending the first branch of understanding.

lucallemant: Hey, are you coming to help with the mural?

He ran his teeth over his bottom lip, nervous habit rearing its head once again. Should he have sent something more? Something less? I miss you, he wanted to say, I miss us. God, he was starting to sound like an idiot, even in his own head. It had barely been two days and already he was a mess.

“Lucas? Can you please come tell Baz his ideas are terrible?” Yann asked, snapping Lucas out of his thoughts. He rolled his shoulders back and went to stand by his friends, shoving thoughts of Eliott from his mind.

“So I’m thinking a big flower, right here. Gigantic! And it will be purple, of course and--” Baz was saying, cut off by a shake of Arthur’s head.

“Purple, really? Purple is basically the one color that has nothing to do with Hogwarts.”

Basile scoffed in indignation. “Not true! Orange, pink, brown, chartreuse…”

“Everything ok?” Yann asked, sidling up beside Lucas.

Lucas nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I think so.” He paused, debating how much he wanted to share at that moment. “Did you and Emma fight a lot?”

Yann looked a little taken aback at the question at first, then turned contemplative. “Well, yeah, you know that. I complained about it to you all the time. She never trusted me, and I was always too defensive. Plus, we both gave each other reasons not to trust the other. Are you and Eliott fighting? Everything seemed fine all week.”

“I don’t know,” Lucas admitted, “We were both in the wrong and in the right, but I think at this point we’re both either too stupid or stubborn to come right out and say it to one another.”

Yann nodded, considering. “What did you argue about?”

“Nothing, really. I asked him about himself, just general stuff, and he told me more than he ever has before, but when I brought up his expulsion from Beauxbatons he shut down completely and got super defensive, saying things that didn’t sound like him at all. He apologized immediately, and I knew he didn’t mean it, but, I don’t know, it still hurt.” Lucas felt like he was doing a poor job of explaining, but Yann answered regardless.

“It’s allowed to hurt. People say shit they don’t mean all the time, but they still said it in the first place. You don’t need to sweep it under the rug, but you should talk about it,” Yann advised. When had Yann gotten so good at relationship advice? Lucas distinctly remembered Yann being hopelessly confused with how to deal with his relationship with Emma in any rational manner.

Lucas sighed. “I mean, we did kind of talk about it, but I’m the one who walked away. I just needed a minute to breathe, you know? But now a minute has turned into two days and I don’t know where we stand anymore.”

“Have you tried to message him?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just a minute ago. I asked if he was coming to help with the mural, but he hasn’t responded.” As if on cue, his phone vibrated once, twice.

srodulv: not sure.

srodulv: it doesn’t have anything to do with you… i just don’t know if i can do that particular activity

Lucas frowned down at the messages. Eliott’s responses seemed normal enough, to a point. Eliott loved painting, drawing, photography, all kinds of art. What did he mean he didn’t know if he could do this right now? Lucas’ phone buzzed again.

srodulv: can we talk, though? alone?

Yann was looking at him curiously, one eyebrow raised, so Lucas filled his friend in on the exchange. “Tell him to meet you here,” Yann suggested once Lucas had finished.

“He said he wasn’t sure about the mural though… and he wanted to talk alone,” Lucas reminded him.

Yann shook his head. “You don’t have to paint the mural, but this room won’t be interrupted for a while and I can lure the boys and girls elsewhere for the time being.”

“Really? You’d do that?”

Yann looked at Lucas like he’d grown a second head. “Of course, bro. You’d do the same for me.” He would.

lucallemant: Meet me down here in the transfiguration classroom ?

srodulv: ok, coming

Lucas hadn’t been expecting an answer that fast, so he turned to Yann with wide eyes. “He’s coming.”

“Now? Right now?”

Lucas gestured vaguely, squeaking out an unintelligible response. Yann clapped his hands together and all the girls, Arthur, and Basile looked at him in surprise. “We gotta go,” he told them without preamble.

“Excuse me?” Daphné laughed in disbelief. “We’ve only just gotten here, we haven’t even started to come up with any real ideas!”

Yann ignored her, gathering up Arthur and Basile’s things and throwing them at them. “Eliott’s coming,” he said by way of explanation.

That seemed to be enough for everyone else, as they hurried to collect their things. Daphné still looked reluctant, but didn’t argue as Alexia shoved her bag into her hands and pulled her arm to get her moving. Yann tripped over himself on his way out, nearly ramming right into Emma. She laughed as this caused her to stumble into Manon, taking them both down in the process. Imane stood holding the door opening, whistling to get them to hurry up. Basile gave him a thumbs up on his way out and Arthur patted Lucas’ shoulder before being the last one to run out the door, closing it over as he did so.

Lucas picked up a paintbrush and put it back down, not entirely sure what to so with himself. Eliott had said he didn’t want to paint, but should Lucas pretend that he’d been working on something? He didn’t have time to come to a conclusion, startling a bit as Eliott opened the door and stepped through. He was wearing all black, not adhering to Daphne’s imposed dress code, but Lucas didn’t care because he took Lucas’ breath away wearing anything or nothing at all.

“Hey,” Eliott said. His voice was dulled around the edges, almost nervous.

“Hey,” Lucas echoed.

Eliott glanced around the room, at the canvas, then back at Lucas. “Where is everyone?”

“Oh… they all had to leave,” Lucas explained poorly, knowing Eliott could see right through him. Eliott nodded once and took off his jacket, setting it on one of the tables. They stood in silence, neither one knowing what to say. Should Lucas apologize? He didn’t really have anything to apologize for, but he still walked away. He knew from experience just how that made someone feel. They both started speaking at the same time.

“I’m--”

“Lucas--”

Eliott coughed. “Sorry, you go first.”

“No, go ahead,” Lucas said, shaking his head. Eliott met his eyes then and he couldn’t help but laugh. This whole thing was quite ridiculous, actually.

“Ça fait du bien de te voir sourire,” Eliott said suddenly, eyes brighter than they had been a moment earlier, “Ça m’avait manqué.”

Lucas dropped his eyes to the ground, smile fading. “Eliott, I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You have no reason to apologize,” Eliott said adamantly. Lucas flicked his eyes back up to Eliott’s face. He knew Eliott meant it, but some part of him still felt bad about how he’d left things. How he’d left, period.

“I left you,” he said, staring at Eliott with an intensity he felt in his soul. “I left you, in the forest. I know how it feels to be left, so I’m sorry for that.” His voice shook a bit as he finished, “Please let me be sorry for that.”

Eliott looked away a moment, running his hand through his hair. Lucas continued, “I’d understand, you know, if it was too much for you. If I was too much for you.”

“Stop,” Eliott cut him off, “Ça compte pas.”

“Ça compte pas?” Lucas repeated, wary. Of course it mattered, especially if Lucas had made Eliott feel like he didn’t. Eliott shook his head. “You’re allowed to have emotional reactions when things upset you, you know.”

Lucas still felt wary, and he could tell it showed on his face, because Eliott continued, “I said some shitty things--”

“I know you didn’t mean them,” Lucas interrupted right away, because he did.

Eliott just shook his head. “That doesn’t matter either. What matters is the fact that, even though I didn’t mean them, I still said them. I get defensive and I lash out at whoever’s closest, and the way you reacted was exactly how I would have if our places were switched. It’s better that you left than stayed, lest we both say things we regret.”

Lucas felt a lump in his throat. “You would have left too?” Eliott didn’t answer, which was answer enough for Lucas.

“I know you said it doesn’t matter, but it does to me. You matter to me.” Lucas could tell his voice was rough with frustration and other emotions he couldn’t place. Eliott would have left him. “I should never ever have left you, but if that’s how you feel about it then maybe it’s for the best if we--”

“Lucas, what the hell are you talking about?” Eliott cut in, slightly panicked, before Lucas could finish. Lucas shrugged, not having the strength to complete his sentence. They could say sorry all they wanted but the simple fact of the matter was that someday Lucas would say something that cut too deep, and Eliott would leave. Why delay the inevitable? He should have known better before getting himself into this.

“Lucas.” Eliott’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. When he spoke again, in their language, Lucas felt the floor slip out from beneath his feet. “Depuis que je t’ai rencontré, y a que toi qui comptes.”

That much had always been true for Lucas, but to hear that Eliott felt the same way, that he might care just as much… It couldn’t change everything, couldn’t change the fact that Eliott would leave him, but it couldn’t change nothing. “But you’d still leave,” Lucas said flatly.

Eliott shook his head. “Not you, not forever. Never you.”

“But--” “Lucas, there’s a difference between needing a moment alone to process your emotions and leaving for good.” But there wasn’t, not really. One led to the other.

“If you leave once who’s to say it won’t get easier and easier every time after?” Lucas asked, genuinely as he could. He was dead serious, because he wanted to believe Eliott so bad, wanted to believe he wouldn’t leave him.

Eliott stepped forward until they were toe to toe, scooping Lucas’ face up in his hands. “Lucas Lallemant, you have my word that I will never leave. If I need time alone, I’ll tell you, but never mistake it for leaving. I would never forgive myself if I left you behind.”

Lucas’ heart was beating rapidly, warmth of Eliott’s hands pressing into his cheeks, thumbs brushing his cheekbones gently. Eliott pressed their foreheads together, speaking deeply, roughly, “You’re the best thing in my life. Why would I ever let you go?”

Their eyes bored into one another’s for one second, two. Lucas wanted to close the distance between them and take Eliott into his arms. He wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave. Maybe if he repeated it to himself enough it would start to sink in.

“I’ll never leave you either,” Lucas said at last, “My whole life I’ve been sleepwalking, but you woke me up. I don’t ever want to sleep again, not unless I’m next to you.”

Eliott’s answering smile was enough for Lucas to forgive him, forgive himself, right then and there. It looked like the sun was out of a job once again. Before they could kiss, Eliott stepped away, considering the blank canvas. “What do you say we take a stab at this?”

“I thought you didn’t want to paint the mural?”

A million emotions flashed over Eliott’s face in an instant. “I think it might be good if I do,” he said slowly. From the way he was reacting, Lucas concluded that this had nothing to do with him, no, it was something deeper. Maybe it had something to do with the past he was so hesitant to divulge.

“We don’t have to,” Lucas assured him. He’d be content sitting with Eliott curled into his side in the common room.

“I want to,” Eliott’s voice had a finality to it. There was no room for argument.

Lucas nodded. “Ok then, you’re the artist. What do you think we should do?”

“What if…” Eliott narrowed his eyes at the wide, blank expanse. “What if we Jackson Pollocked it?”

“Uh, what if we do what now?” Lucas was lost.

“Are you serious?” Eliott asked.

Lucas laughed, nodding. “Yes? Are you?”

Eliott shook his head in disbelief, scoffing as he brought his hands to his hair. “You really win first prize, huh.”

Now Lucas was even more confused. “Excuse me? What prize?”

“Dumbass of the year.” The corner of Eliott’s mouth curled up into a small grin and it took every inch of Lucas’ self restraint to not run over and kiss him senseless. He was really proud of himself for that one, huh?

“Shut the fuck up! Dumbass of the year?” Lucas pretended to be offended, but mostly he was just glad Eliott was smiling, so clearly satisfied with himself.

Eliott rolled his eyes like it should have been obvious. “First, you think that I’d ever let you go, now you don’t even know who Jackson Pollock is? Dumbass of the year.”

“I didn’t know those were the only two rules.”

“They are. I know the guy who wrote the rules,” Eliott explained. Lucas laughed again, basking in Eliott’s presence. It had only been two days, but he’d missed this so much. Eliott’s answering grin told him that he felt the exact same way. Eliott cleared his throat, nodding to the paint cans. “I can show you what I mean, though.”

He took one of the brushes, dipping it in the red paint and flicking a line of paint onto the surface. He repeated the process with blue, green, and yellow. “We can use the four house colors, do this all over.”

Lucas stared at the work, dumbfounded. “Art is such a scam.”

Eliott simply shrugged and handed Lucas a brush. He got to work right away. Just because it was easy, didn’t mean it wasn’t fun. He was no artist, but he found that Jackson Pollock-ing the mural wasn’t too bad, especially with Eliott.

“You have some paint, on your nose.” Eliott pointed at his face vaguely. Lucas reached a hand up self-consciously. How had that even happened?

“Where? I don’t feel it?” He asked, turning his face to Eliott for guidance. Eliott’s grin was devilish, and Lucas knew what was about to happen an instant before it did, too late to stop it. Eliott’s brush dabbed a green dot in the middle of his nose. “Right there,” Eliott said, satisfied.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Lucas answered with a grin of his own, sticking his hands into one of the unused paint tins and flicking the color off his fingers in Eliott’s direction. Before he knew it, they were engaged in a full on paint war, using far more colors than the four they had designated to represent the houses on the mural. Hopefully they would be able to come up with a satisfactory explanation for Daphné later.

Lucas was laughing so hard that he didn’t realize Eliott had come so close to him, only a few inches apart, neither one daring to close the distance even though they both desperately wanted to. Fuck it, Lucas thought, and Eliott must have thought the same, because they crashed together at the exact same time, mouths finding each other’s like magnets locking into place.

Paint was everywhere now, all over their skin, their hair, their clothes. He could taste it inside Eliott’s mouth as his tongue moved with the kiss, reaching and exploring every bit of Eliott it could find. Eliott backed Lucas up to the canvas, pulling off Lucas’ shirt and pressing his back into the still wet paint. Lucas returned the favor, peeling himself off the canvas to relieve Eliott of his own shirt leaving the two of them swaying in place for a moment, no longer kissing. Their arms were wrapped up around each other’s heads, foreheads pressed together as they so often were, breathing in synch. The peace lasted a moment longer before Eliott surged back to him with a new fervor, passion tainting his every kiss.

Lucas was backed up against the painting again, pants itching with dried paint. Eliott broke away and looked down, raising his eyebrows in question. “Yes?” he asked.

Lucas nodded, breathing heavily, nearly unable to verbalize his want, his need. “Yes. Yes.”

Faster than he could even blink, his pants were lying in a heap on the floor, Eliott’s following just as quickly. They had been bare like this together before, had done a great many things in stolen moments in the Room of Requirement or the not-so out of order bathroom, but nothing compared to this, how it felt to be pressed up against Eliott in that moment, paint staining their skin in so many places that Lucas could barely distinguish what was actually skin and what was color. Eliott’s back was up against the painting now, hand trailing down Lucas’ back, down, down down. He nearly gasped, tipping his head back as Eliott pressed even closer, mouth searing hot against his.

He was so in love.

Later they laid beside one another, still covered in paint they hadn’t really attempted to wash off. Eliott’s breathing was soft and steady, a comforting sound, a music that was yet undiscovered. Lucas breathed in Eliott, every inch of him, and something occurred to him.

“Paint,” he said. Eliott lifted his head up slightly from where it had been resting on Lucas’ chest, turning to meet Lucas’ eye. “Hmmm?” he mumbled sleepily.

“My amortentia,” Lucas explained, wondering how he hadn’t realized, or even guessed, earlier. “Ink, cigarette smoke, pain au chocolat, rain, and paint.”

Lucas could feel Eliott’s smile as he lowered his head back down onto Lucas’ chest. He was quiet for so long that Lucas thought he must have fallen asleep. Lucas ran his fingers through Eliott’s half crusted over paint covered hair, doing his best to undo the tangles without disturbing Eliott.

“Paint was in mine too,” Eliott said at last, breath dancing across Lucas’ skin, causing him goosebumps. “Thank you.”

Lucas laughed softly. “For what?”

But Eliott didn’t answer, asleep at last.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

AO3

Weekly Instagram Roundup: Week 1 Week 2 Week 3 Week 4 Week 5

#skam france #elu fic #elu hogwarts au #elu #skamfr #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #i couldn't bring myself to be mean after all the shit that went down today #so i hope u enjoy this ;)#la fin des temps

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missmeikakuna · 5 years ago

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(GL/Yuri) Shoujo Heroine... and Friends Chapter 5

Now for Kunie’s backstory. Please comment your thoughts and like it if you, well, like it.

Rated: T

Fandom: Original story

Relationship type: F/F with some F/M

Description:

Sahana is friendly, innocent and optimistic, making her the perfect shoujo anime heroine… except she’s not the main character of this story.

When school prince Toyomi asks her out, she starts hanging out with him and leaves her friends behind. Prim and proper Masami and tomboyish slob Kunie don’t seem to have much in common outside of their friendship with Sahana, but they try to make the best out of a lonely situation.

So why is the god of love and marriage watching them, red string of fate at the ready? CONTENT WARNING: Some homophobic language and bullying.

Chapter 5: It’s obvious why you joined the theatre club

Once again, Sahana decided to hang out with Toyomi, leaving Masami and Kunie alone. The abandoned girls found solidarity in a shared mission to find a new place to eat. They searched heaven and hell to find the perfect spot, eventually settling on a tree with wide roots.

At least, that was how it was supposed to be. Surprisingly enough, roots aren’t exactly comfortable, and the dirt on the ground did little to ease Masami’s mind.

After a few minutes of shifting butts, the pair stood up and wordlessly shuffled back into the school building. Masami surveyed the school evacuation plan and noticed the Home Ec room. At long last, they had found their sanctuary!

Masami made sure to finish chewing before asking Kunie a question. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but why is someone like you in the theatre club? Your… aesthetic gives me... track and field vibes.’

Kunie chuckled. ‘Just say I’m a tomboy.’ Masami bowed her head in apology. ‘It’s all right. I’ve always loved the theatre, even when I was a little kid. It felt like a place I could be myself. Ironic, huh? Playing characters makes me feel like the real me. One time I saw a Kabuki play and was amazed that there was a male actor playing a female role. If someone like him could do that, I could do anything, really.’

‘Wow, that’s really-’

‘Don’t say deep. I don’t really care about that nowadays. Now I just like playing characters like I’m a kid playing house. Though I will say that Sahana understood my old motivation.’

Dooru snatched Kunie’s paintbrush from her. ‘This set needs a delicate touch,’ she said as she painted a thin stroke of orange on the sunset-adorned timber.

Kunie looked at the ground. ‘Why do we have to paint the set, anyway?’ She grumbled. ‘Can’t we get the art club to do this?’

The teacher turned his head, paintbrush in hand, and answered. ‘It’s a good idea to gain an understanding of all departments in charge of putting on a play. It gives you an appreciation of every role’s hard work.’

Toyomi nodded in agreement. ‘And this is nice. It gets the creative juices flowing, doesn’t it?’ He painted a ripple of sunlight with one big stroke. Dooru had to stop for a moment to bask in his glory.

He looked at his watch and said a quick goodbye before heading out the door. Dooru sighed, absentmindedly drawing rays of sunshine where there should not be any.

‘Isn’t he dreamy?’ she whispered.

Sahana blushed, missing a nail with her hammer. ‘Well, he is a nice person.’

Kunie offered to give Sahana’s job a try and Sahana handed her the hammer. Dooru snickered when Kunie managed to hit the nail with ease.

‘So, what do you think about him?’ A shrug from Kunie. ‘Seriously? Who wouldn’t like him? Unless…’ Dooru scanned the girl up and down. ‘Oh. I see. Now I get it. It’s obvious why you joined the theatre club. You thought you would get girls that way, didn’t you?’

Kunie tightened her grip on her hammer and yet Dooru continued. ‘Shame Toyomi is playing the prince, or you might have succeeded. With that hair and your acting skills, you could have been a charming leading man. But I guess that would have required all of us to be big lesbians, wouldn’t it? How sad for you-’

Place your bets. Did the teacher tell her off or did Kunie smack her with a hammer?

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Do you have your answer?

Bzzzz! You’re wrong if you chose either answer because the first to respond was none other than Sahana.

‘Just because she has short hair doesn't make her a lesbian. Kunie is a wonderful person and I don't think she deserves you being so mean to her!’

Dooru stepped back and looked around her like she had a harsh spotlight put on her. ‘I… wasn’t trying to be mean.’ She whipped back towards the set and resumed painting it.

Sahana kneeled down next to Kunie with eyes that warmed Kunie’s soul. The short-haired girl gave her thanks via a smile.

Realisation dawned on Masami’s face. ‘So that’s why Dooru is always calling you a prince. I’m surprised Sahana’s words didn’t get her to stop picking on you, though.’

‘Yeah, it’s weird, but at least I know I’ve got Sahana on my side no matter what,’ Kunie said with a smile that quickly plummeted. ‘It would be nice if people stopped making assumptions about me, thinking I’m a lesbian.’

She paused for a moment, biting her lip. ‘I’m glad that Sahana defended me but sometimes people’s words do kind of get to me. There are times when I wonder if I should grow my hair out and wear lipgloss or something. I only wear makeup for theatre, so I kinda wonder if I would look like a clown if I tried to wear it regularly.’

Kunie’s expression punctured Masami’s heart, spilling out an idea. Masami stood up and headed to the pantry. ‘What are you doing?’ Kunie asked with one eyebrow up and her mouth curved into a smile. Masami didn’t answer her, focusing on pulling out ingredients.

‘Turn around or close your eyes. I have a surprise.’

Kunie followed both orders. She could hear the chopping and crushing of food. She could vaguely smell sushi and some other unidentified food.

After ten minutes, she asked, ‘Is it ready? I’m pretty sure lunchtime is almost over.’

Masami slammed a plate on the bench and turned Kunie around. ‘Enjoy, if you can.’

Sushi with chocolate. Sushi with chocolate. Sushi with chocolate.

Now that she was closer to the meal, she could smell it. Not wanting to pinch her nose, she scrunched it and held her breath.

She picked up the chopsticks and put the sushi in her mouth. The raw tuna underbelly and sour vinegared rice clashed with the richness and sweetness of the chocolate. As soon as it touched her tongue, Kunie had to spit it out. She looked at Masami with apologetic eyes but spoke her mind.

‘This is terrible,’ she said with a laugh.

Masami sighed in relief before joining in the laughter.

Despite succeeding at her initial mission, she mentally filed the meal under ‘failure’. She had a feeling she would continue to do this with multiple subsequent meals until she found one that Kunie genuinely enjoyed.

For now, she watched Kunie smile as she stabbed the sushi with her chopsticks like doing so would kill the horrid flavour.

#lesbian #yuri #anime #fiction #romance #writing #LGBT #lgbt romance #Breaking Stereotypes #original fiction #drama #comedy #parody #Shoujo Heroine... and Friends

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irondad-not-ironsad · 6 years ago

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Better Place

AN: So this ideas been in my brain for weeks. and I wrote a bunch of it a few days ago but I accidentally deleted it, so here’s take two

“and ah, you’re my favorite thing

ah, all the happiness you bring

well it feels like I’ve opened my eyes again

and the colors are golden and bright again

and the sun paints the skies

and the wind sing our song

it’s a better place since you came along” -rachel platten

Tony wishes he could say the day he walked into Peter Parker’s life was a day like any other, but that was unfortunately not the case. It was likely one of the lowest points of his life. Pepper had left him a few weeks ago, and now half of his team was following. Worse yet, he was now resorting to recruiting a teenage kid to help detain what were now being called the Rogue Avengers. He tried to push that all aside as he put on his mask to introduce himself to the kid’s aunt. Not his Iron Mask, as that would likely startle her quite a bit, but his figurative mask that was the persona he took on at press conferences and business meetings, the persona of a cocky, flirtatious, carefree billionaire. After a brief questioning. Mrs. Parker buys his phony story of a grant and soon the boy arrives home and he is allowed to speak with him in private. Seeing the kid in person for the first time, it felt hard to breathe. Years of practice allowed him to hide his panic but he was internally at war with himself, he knew this kid was a 14, but his brain did not truly realize how young that was until his eyes were seeing it. Even his brain, which many considered genius, struggle to consolidate this gangly teen with the graceful vigilante from the videos. Be brought the kid to Germany and told himself that he was helping him by giving him a safer suit, but the guilt came crashing down on him when he saw the boy knocked out by the giant Ant Man, ad felt panic that he refused to admit felt vaguely parental when he did not get back up. Thankfully, Peter seemed to be okay, albeit slightly roughed up.

In the time that followed Tony’s life just seemed to keep going further and further downhill, starting with Rhodey falling from the sky and Tony being unable to help, to Tony facing what he considered the ultimate betrayal from the Captain he used to call a friend. Returning from the fight, Tony immediately rushed to be with Rhodey while the doctors ran tests. While they awaited results, Tony kept checking for messages from Happy, who he had left Peter with.

“I can tell your worried about more than just my legs Tones, your waiting for Happy to message you about the Spider Boy, right?”

“It’s Spiderman” Tony mutters

“That’s not the point and you know it. How do you know the guy? You haven’t told me anything about him but judging from what I’ve seen, he can’t be older than 25, which places his birth right around the time of your-”

“He’s fourteen, actually” That manages to put Rhodey into a stunned silence as Tony looks away guilty. After taking a few seconds to process Rhodey whispers

“Jesus Christ, Tony” after pausing for a few seconds “How could you recruit your teenage son to fight with the Avengers, and how could you have not told me?”

If Tony had been holding a drink he would have spit it out. Instead the man shook his head, and explained what had happened.

“Despite your denial, i can tell you care a lot about the kid. Go, check on him. I know you sent Happy to take him home, based on how eager the kid was to please you, I bet he’ll be glad to see you”

“Rhodey I can’t just leave you here alone”

“Why not? I’ll be here when you get back, it’s not like I’m gonna get up and walk away.” Tony laughs for the first time in what feels like weeks, bids his friend good bye and good luck and goes off to check on the spiderling.

Tony had originally planned to take a hands on approach in mentoring the kid, but upon seeing his eagerness to get involved with the big leagues he decides a more distant approach may be better. Tony already made the mistake of bringing him to an Avengers fight, he wasn’t going to get the kid killed by introducing him to a level of fighting he is to young for. Instead, he has the kid send Happy status reports, but in truth he has them all forwarded to himself. When he spends long days working with politicians to fix the accords, listening to Peter’s voicemail reminds him that there is good in the world. Living alone in the tower was rough, it seemed every corn he turned he could feel the ghosts of the happy memories he and the team had had their. Now, the rooms that once seemed vibrant and full of life faded to a dull gray.

Over the next few weeks several things happen very quickly. While Tony is away in India Tony has t send a suit to save Peter after he got involved in crime that was a little to advanced for him. Tony briefly thought that the stress he felt for Peter’s safety must be what it’s like to be a father, but he quickly pushed that notion out of his head. Next comes the incident in DC, which Tony only saw a few hours later and he swore that kid was TRYING to give him a heart attack. A few days later, Tony calmed down and realized, despite how stressful it appeared, the kid did a good job. He had just got off the phone from telling him this when he saw Spiderman on the news, and he was most definitely NOT at band practice.

The events that follow happen in a bit of a blur, one second he’s fixing the ferry, the next he’s on top of a building with Peter, taking the suit. He feels awful about it the next day, but he also thinks that he cannot go back

Of course, then comes moving day, and the plane crash, and Tony decide that maybe he ought to keep the tower after all.

(Pepper suggests he wants a location to stay close to New York to keep a eye on Peter. Tony will never admit it, but she isn’t wrong)

After the shocking turn of events that was Peter turning down the offer to join the Avengers, Pepper and Tony were in their kitchen, celebrating their engagement when his phone rings. He does not recognize the phone number calling and he answers in the manner he does all of these calls

“I don’t know how you got this number but don’t even think about cal-”

“This is Spider Man’s aunt. You may remember recruiting my kid to fight behind my back?”

“Crap.”

No women could ever scare Tony as much as Pepper, but May Parker came pretty darn close. After she finished thoroughly chewing him out she agreed to allow him to continue under the basis of Tony training him and personally monitoring his patrols (which Tony normally did anyways, not that he’d admit it) and that he give her access to monitor the suit (he sent her a StarkPad that was completely synced with Karen the next day.) After Peter accidentally blew up his school lab making web fluid, she added the condition that he go to Tony’s lab once a week. What started as Peter using the facility to make web fluid, led to Tony teaching the kid all the inner workings of the Spider Man suit to Peter being his personal intern.

(Pepper suggested that it was less like he was his personal intern and more like he was his son, but what does Pepper know?)

Occasionally they would work so late into the night that Peter would just stay the night. This led to Peter coming to the compound every Friday after school with a duffle bag and then returning to his apartment Sunday afternoon. This definitely was not because they were forming a father son bond (”I swear to God if you call me Iron Dad one more time Rhodey....”) It was just convenient. May had the most shifts on weekends and Peter got bored being home alone. Any good mentor would invite him to stay. For an early birthday present, Tony decided to redo the guest room to personalize it for Peter. Pepper suggested he just hire someone to do it, but he brushed her aside. If someone leaked that he was having a room decorated for a teenage boy God only know what kind of rumors would spread. That is why he was sitting on his tablet at 11 PM stressing over what color paint would prefer.

“Just buy both and ask him which he likes better when he comes over”

“Pep I can’t just.... actually your right, I’m a billionaire, I’ll get both.”

That is how, a few days later the billionaire finds himself hand painting a room with a 15 year old boy. Peter returns from the bathroom just to feel paint drip on his face from above. He looks up to see Peter on the ceiling painting the part of the ceiling he couldn’t reach from the ground.

“Whoops, sorry Mr. Stark” the laughter in his voice told him he wasn’t really sorry. picking up a paintbrush he exclaimed

“I’ll get you for that little you little twerp” and with tat flung some of the paint at Peter.

When Pepper went 30 minutes later to see what kind of pizza to order for lunch, she finds them laughing hysterically and covered in paint.

A week later Tony hosted a surprise birthday for Peter at the tower. He, shockingly enough, kept it small, only inviting Peter’s closest friends, May, Rhodey and Pepper. He and May had spent the past few hours painstakingly setting everything up to be perfect. Tony’s back hurt more than he cared to admit, and part of him was wary the girl, Michelle, who watched him with a far to knowing look. It was all made worth it when he say the look on Peter’s face when they surprised him. When Peter crushed him into a hug his initial reaction was to jerk away, but instead he returned the hug. He wasn’t certain, but he thinks he heard the boy mumble “thanks dad” into his shoulder. After a few seconds he released the boy and ruffled his hair.

“Anytime, son” he said to quietly for anyone to hear. Than, louder, he said “Enjoy the party, kiddo” and handed him off to his aunt.

Now, when Tony walks the halls of the tower, instead of seeing the ghosts of his ex teammates he see’s Peter’s homework strewn across the table, his backpack propped against the couch, his report card that he had jokingly taped on the fridge and often time the curly haired teenager himself, breathing life back into the place.

One day he realized that the world is no longer all gray.

AN: Thanks for reading, i haven’t actually read back over this, though I might sometime soon. Hope you enjoyed!

#irondad #IRON DAD AND SPIDER SON #peter parker #tony stark #spiderman #iron man #may parker #rhodey #pepper potts #my writing

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spaceskam · 6 years ago

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Ship: Lucas + Eliott

Summary: in which the boys are painting the mural and talking about eliott

“Yann,” Lucas began, a paintbrush in hand. Earlier, he had received a notification that someone had followed him on Instagram. A quick look through revealed it was Eliott and he’d immediately exited out and just headed to the common room where the boys had agreed to meet. However, now all he could think about was that stupid Instagram account. “You told me not to go through shit alone, so… I’m talking.”

All the boys looked his way. Surprisingly, Basile and Arthur managed to stop talking long enough to give Lucas their full attention. Lucas felt too confused to take his eyes off the hideous mural they’d barely began covering up.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Yann asked.

“You know how you asked if anything was going on with Eliott and I said no? Well, that was kind of a lie. Not really, but kind of.”

“What does that mean? How can you have kind of a lie when it comes to hooking up?” Basile asked. Lucas rolled his eyes.

“We’re not hooking up. But… he keeps giving me these drawings of us and today he followed me on Instagram, and, like I’m the only one he follows. He hasn’t spoken to me in, like, two weeks.” Lucas scoffed, dragging the paintbrush over the wall and leaving a streak of white.

“Wait, so he wasn’t following you before? Isn’t that like the first step to hooking up with someone?” Yann asked.

“And drawings? That’s a little weird.” Arthur chimed in. Lucas sighed.

“I don’t know, he’s weird. I can’t keep up with what he’s thinking and I wish he’d just tell me. Like you can’t tell me you want to be with me, but then get back with your girlfriend, and then turn around again and draw us together like he actually gives a shit. I don’t understand it.” Lucas admitted, the whole room falling silent as the gears turned in all their heads.

Lucas had been annoyed with Eliott since he decided to start sneaking drawings into his things. Why could he get close enough to sneak shit for him to see, but couldn’t seem to tell him to his face what was going on? Even when he did talk to him, Eliott made no attempt to explain why he was trying so hard to keep him stringing along. Lucas felt stupid for even still thinking about him when he knew that’s what it had to be, he had to just be leading him on.

Basile was the first to break the silence, “Well, did you Insta stalk him? Maybe that’ll tell you something. That always tells me something. I can look at Daphne’s, or another girls, and you can know what they like to do, where they hang out, who they hang out with, where they are, like, right now, it’s pretty handy.”

“No, I haven’t stalked him, that’s weird.” Lucas defended, shaking his head.

“Everything is weird for you, Lucas. But maybe Basile’s actually right for once. I mean, don’t try to figure out where he is and shit, that’s creepy, but, like, see what the fuck he’s been posting.” Yann reasoned. Lucas shook his head again.

“It’s just a bunch of art.”

“Art can mean something!” Arthur announced.

Before Lucas could deny them, Basile reached into his back pocket and swiped his phone.

“Dude, give it back!”

“No, we need to see the art.” Yann chuckled, easily typing in Lucas’s passcode. Lucas tried his best to fight for his phone back, but there was only so much he could do when they were all taller than him. He eventually gave up, sinking into one of the chairs as his friends huddled around his phone.

“Which account is it? The one called… called… how the fuck do you pronounce this?” Arthur asked. Lucas shrugged helplessly.

“S-R-O-D-U-L-V, right?” Yann read out.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so… first one is of some dude holding a dude statue. That’s pretty gay.” Basile commented. Lucas rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, read the caption. ‘In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you.’ You think it’s about you, Lucas?” Yann asked. Lucas’ jaw tensed up, rudely being reminded of the drawing that claimed Eliott missed him. That felt like such a lie.

“Probably not.”

“He’s got a lot of drawings of raccoons for some reason.” Basile pointed out.

“Those are self-portraits.” Lucas informed them. They all three looked up in confusion. “It’s his spirit animal or something. I’m… a hedgehog, I guess.”

“I can see it. It’s the hair.” Yann pointed out, nodding. Lucas rolled his eyes again. “Man, this dude likes to be vague as shit. He’s got a picture of rain that says ‘not afraid’. What does that even mean?”

Lucas took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “He’s talking about our first kiss.”

“...oh.”

There was silence again as Lucas let himself take in the fact that Eliott had posted about them. It was so annoying. Their kiss felt like more than just some shit to lead him on with‒that felt real. The night and the morning following that kiss felt real. But it wasn’t. It was Eliott playing out his fantasy.

Yet Lucas couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see what else Eliott possibly could’ve posted about him.

Lucas stood to his feet and went to peer at Eliott’s Instagram. All of it was a little much. The picture of him not knowing what to say, of building up his wall, him being the one in the dark, of finding the light, the piano, the chelou, Polaris. Lucas gulped, everything weighing on his shoulders and his head was spinning. It was way too much.

“I need to talk to him.”

“Wait, wait, you can’t just cave because of a few stupid posts.” Yann tried.

“I’m not caving, I just… Clearly he’s got some shit to say.”

“Well, what are you going to do? Are you going to, like, text him?” Arthur asked as Lucas weaved in to grab ahold of his phone. He shrugged slightly as he went to his messages, opening up his and Eliott’s messages. It was more than slightly embarrassing to see how his second to last text was about him being a hedgehog.

But I guess this didn’t include the un-sent messages that Eliott’s drawing included.

“I guess I’ll just say, like, ‘I know you got back with Lucille and I don’t agree with cheating. If you have something to say that isn’t just to fuck with me, then I might listen’.” Lucas spoke.

“That feels a little harsh.” Yann said as he peered over Lucas’ shoulder. Basile and Arthur did the same.

“Yeah, maybe you should say something about the fact that him having a whole Instagram specifically to follow you is, like, romantic, right?” Basile chimed in.

“Or, you know, creepy.” Arthur scoffed.

“I don’t really think I should take relationship advice from either of you, honestly.” Lucas sighed, chewing on his bottom lip. He’d been craving something real from Eliott for two weeks and now that Eliott was finally making larger strides, he didn’t know if he even wanted to fix things. He was finally doing well again‒he didn’t want to screw that up just because Eliott was super hot.

“How about a compromise? Say something like, ‘Thanks for the drawings and stuff, but I know you’re back with your girlfriend and I don’t like being led on. I’ll talk to you when you actually make a decision.’” Yann said. After thinking on for a moment, they all agreed that was the best route to go.

So Lucas sent it.

They all stared at his phone, waiting for a response for a few minutes straight. But none seemed to come and eventually they had to stop staring. The boys went back to painting the mural, leaving Lucas alone and staring.

“C’mon, the guy clearly isn’t worth it.” Yann urged. Lucas admittedly felt hurt by hearing the words out loud, but found enough in him to head towards the mural again.

For the next hour, they painted basically a bunch of bullshit. The more they added, the more it became apparent none of them were actual artists. Everything they tried to fix made it worse and Lucas could picture Daphne’s horrified reaction. But, honestly, just painting and joking around with his friends made him feel better after a day of stressing over Eliott. He was tired of stressing over him. He was done with it, with him.

That is until his phone rang.

Lucas dove for his phone without a second thought, seeing Eliott’s name displayed across the screen. His breath caught in his throat as his thumb hovered over the answer button. He didn’t know if he was ready for this anymore. Lucas looked back at his friends.

“Answer it!” Basile urged, Yann and Arthur nodding their approval of that decision. So, with a deep breath, he answered and put it on speaker for them all to hear.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hey.” Eliott’s voice was soft and part of Lucas wanted to just cave in and dive right back into bed with him. But he knew that wasn’t an option. “Where are you? I really wanna talk. And… I promise I’ve chose, and I think I chose right.”

“You think?” Lucas asked back, trying as hard as he could to sound cold.

“Lucille and I are done. For real this time, I promise you. Let me talk and I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I promise.” Eliott said. Lucas looked up to his friends who all gave him thumbs up, urging him to agree. He did go through the effort of figuring out what to text him. He was in it now… He had to hear him out.

“I’m at the common room. The guys and I were trying to paint that mural.” Lucas said. Eliott shuffled on the other side of the line and Lucas had to wonder if it bothered him they weren’t doing it together. He hoped it bothered him.

“I’ll be there.”

And, with all the encouragement in the world, Lucas was actually ready to take his word.

#oh hey my first fic #elu #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #elu fic #skam france #skamfr #lucas x eliott #this was written quickly before work #idk how good it is #but here we are #2k word #my fic

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lord-of-shadows · 7 years ago

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A New Life (Kitty Reunion Ch. 4)

the last chapter is finally here!! check it out on AO3 or read under the cut. kit returns to the LA Institute and an unexpected visitor arrives (aka the reunion! warning: it gets a lil spicy). ~4k words. read ch. 1, ch. 2, and ch. 3. enjoy!! (thank you to everyone who read and left nice comments, i appreciate them a lot! definitely expect more kitty fics from me soon!)

CHAPTER FOUR

When Kit arrived in the Los Angeles Institute through the Portal, the first thing he recognized was the familiar feeling of the black and white marble underneath him, and his breath almost caught at how much he forgot how beautiful the inside was.

Then, when he was back to his senses, he noticed the crowd of people that had gathered––Helen and Julian were greeting Tessa, Emma was hugging Jem, Tavvy and Nene were already running off with Cordelia in tow––Aline’s “Get back here!” heard in the background––and Dru had come to stand before him with her arms bent on her waist and one eyebrow raised. Kit realized how much she had changed since they last saw each other; she was a little taller and carried herself with more confidence now, but she was still the same Dru––and suddenly, he was enveloped into a tight hug, released only after it felt as if he had been squeezed to death.

“I’m still mad at you,” she said with a smile, holding up a finger and moving it around. “You promised me something, remember?”

Kit vaguely recalled agreeing to teach her more crime stuff when they met again, and he let out a shaky laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ve composed an entire list of what to teach you next.”

She brightened at that, and Kit was then greeted by Emma––"The boy who mysteriously disappeared has returned!" she had exclaimed––and Julian, who clasped him on the shoulder, nodding at him, saying, “Glad you’re back, Kit.”

Helen and Aline greeted him as well, but they didn’t really know him that well––the only person here he really knew was Dru, who was standing next to him as they listened to Emma and Julian recount what they saw on patrol.

“There’s an increase in demonic activity around the regions where the blight has spread. It’s strange, though,” Julian said confusingly, “These demons don’t attack unless threatened. They seem to be…” He hesitated, then looked at Kit. “Searching for something. Or someone,” he added. Kit tensed.

Tessa frowned, moving to put a hand on Kit’s shoulder, a protective gesture. “Could you and Emma guide us to the where the ley line is? Jem and I would like to begin investigating this issue as quickly as possible.”

Emma nodded, sharing a knowing look with Tessa. “Of course. Cristina and Mark are on their way to give us any updates from Kieran. It’s suspicious how the Queen hasn’t responded, though.” There was a glint of anger in her eye. “I never did like her.”

Julian put a reassuring hand on her back. He scrunched his nose. "Neither did I. Let’s get going, then.” They walked past Kit towards the entrance, Tessa turning to follow them, and Jem approached Kit, his hand resting on his arm as he spoke in a low voice: “Are you alright, Christopher?”

Kit shot him a weak smile. “Yeah, I think I’m good.”

“If anything happens––”

“I know, I know,” he shot Jem a smile, the one that Jem always said reminded him of his parabatai (Will, Kit recalled his name was––he had met the ghost several times, bent over Cordelia’s crib at night, his soft voice singing Welsh lullabies to help her fall back asleep). “Grab the baby and run." Jem opened his mouth, about to protest, but Kit threw up his hands. "Kidding! I’ll be fine, Jem. Tessa is waiting for you.” He was right, Tessa was waiting by the doors, a sad smile on her face as if she was remembering someone.

Jem shook his head, face mirroring Tessa’s, and he let Kit’s hand fall as he joined her by the door.

Once they heard the door close, Dru turned to Kit, a confused expression on her face. “That’s weird. What was that for?”

“What?” Kit asked, still shaken by what Julian said.

“The whole––” She noticed the look on Kit’s face, then shook her head. “Nevermind. Let’s go to the training room.” There was a wicked look in her eye. “Let’s see if you’ve really gotten better since you’ve been gone.”

Soon enough, Kit found himself back in the training room––he was surprised that he remembered all of the twists and turns to get there, could close his eyes and let his feet guide him to familiar places in the Institute. He was doing target practice with Dru, both of them consistently getting bullseyes, while also keeping a watchful eye over Cordelia and Nene playing with a paintbrush set––Julian’s, perhaps––in the corner. He was currently telling Dru about Devon and the friends he’s made––he thought she would like Trisha, since the girl had the same interests as Dru––and Dru would pipe in with her own tales from the Shadowhunter Academy in New York, and how she’s made a group of friends, most notably a girl named Thais.

She was telling him about an incident that happened when Simon was a guest speaker that left Kit doubling over with laughter, causing him to miss the center of the target just slightly, and Dru was laughing at his aghast expression, pointing a finger at him, shouting, “Ha! I win!”

Kit was about to make a remark on how technically she didn’t win since she cheated, but before he could get the words out, they heard commotion coming from the other end of the Institute.

They both looked at each other, and Dru shrugged. “Maybe it’s Cristina and Mark?”

“We can go check it out.” Dru nodded and turned to call Nene and Cordelia over. Kit turned to face Cordelia, then flinched––she had gotten blue paint all over herself, marking her cheeks like a barbarian going into battle. Oh, he was going to have a great time explaining that to Tessa later.

They headed towards the entrance, Dru handing Nene and Cordelia off to Tavvy, who looked upset to have to take care of the kids––"Hey, that was my job when I was your age, so deal with it," Dru had said––and when they reached the grand entryway, they found Helen and Aline already there, obscuring their view as to who arrived.

They turned around, Helen with a bright smile on her face, and Kit didn’t even need for them to move aside to know who was towering behind them.

“Ty!” Dru exclaimed, and she ran forward and spread her arms as if asking permission for an embrace. Surprisingly, Ty accepted it, hair falling over his eyes as he bent down to rest his head on Dru’s shoulder. Kit stood there, shock paralyzing his body. Everything seemed to stop.

It was Ty.

And he had gotten really tall.

“I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks! What happened?” Dru’s voice echoed in his ears, but he wasn’t paying attention––he was staring at the back of Ty’s head, at the way his body moved with the grace that it always carried.

“Classes ended early,” Kit stiffened at the sound of his voice. It was more mature and deeper if that was even possible––it made his heart race faster, his breathing uneven. “Institutes were calling for the help of warlocks. They decided to end the semester early so we could help investigate the issue as well.”

“Huh, that’s weird,” Dru said, pulling away. “Tessa and Jem arrived today. Emma and Jules just left to show them the ley lines.”

“Tessa and Jem are here?” Ty finally raised his head, but before he could spot him, Kit had vanished, and he was running away, like he always did, although he didn’t know where, exactly––until a cool breeze hit his face, and he was looking out in the distance at the lights on the water, the waves crashing against the shore.

His feet carried him to the rooftop, the very place where he and Ty had escaped to three years ago whenever everything was too overwhelming for them as if it was their secret, hidden cove. Their safe haven. He found himself sitting at the edge again, legs dangling underneath him, fingers gripping the smooth stone of the brick as he tried to calm his breathing and will his heart to slow down.

At the sound of Ty’s voice, it felt as if everything he kept buried the past three years suddenly shot back up again, and it left a painful feeling in his chest that Kit had tried so hard to ignore. Memories flashed through him, from Ty holding a knife to his neck and Kit’s traitorous mind thinking How beautiful, to holding Ty on the rooftop, to Livvy’s death, to doing everything in his power to keep Ty from slipping away from him, which turned out futile because he ended up losing him anyway, ended up running away because Ty didn’t care for him, he never did––

Hands on his shoulders knocked him out of his thoughts, and Kit was about to recoil, but then he heard words being whispered over and over in that soothing, deep voice: whisper, cloud, secret, highway, hurricane, mirror, castle, thorns.

“Blackthorns,” Kit whispered, and looked up at Ty’s face.

Emotions he had locked in a dark vault deep in his heart exploded in him, and he noticed how Ty’s face had gotten sharper, the shape of his body and curve of his lips and gray eyes and dark eyelashes rendering Kit breathless––his black hair had grown, falling over his eyes, and Kit almost laughed, remembering when Ty had told him he needed a haircut, and now Ty was the one who was in desperate need of one, but it didn’t matter, because right now, Kit was wondering how it felt to run his hands through his hair, to feel the silk strands between his fingertips.

Ty was older, more elegant, strikingly beautiful, and handsome.

Kit felt his stomach flip as it did all those years ago. He almost forgot how it felt like.

“Can I sit next to you?” Ty was looking at his hands on Kit’s shoulders, and Kit realized he must feel uncomfortable touching him, and then he realized how awkward it was that Kit was staring at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

He shut his mouth, turning his head around, and managed to choke out, “Y–yeah, of course.”

He saw Ty sit next to him from the edge of his peripheral and watched how his hands began to flutter on his lap, gaze focused on the waves. At least some things haven’t changed, Kit thought.

“Fifty months, two weeks, and four days,” Ty said.

Kit blinked, looking back at Ty. “What?”

“How long it’s been since you left without saying goodbye.” Ty was looking at Kit now, at the area underneath his eye which betrayed the dark circles that had formed due to Cordelia not being able to sleep well at night as of late.

Kit inhaled. “I’m sorry.”

“Why did you leave?” Ty didn’t sound angry, just confused. Kit almost let out a breath of relief––he was so sure the other boy would be mad at him, and he was ready to take the blow. He deserved it, Kit knew. It would’ve been better if Ty was yelling at him, instead of speaking to him in that calm, gentle voice that always sent his heart racing.

His mind scrambled for what to say. “I was scared. After what happened, I–I thought you hated me, so I ran because I thought I wasn’t needed. I thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t hate you,” Ty said levelly. Kit could tell he was assessing the situation, thinking of the right words to say––he was a Centurion now, as the uniform he wore depicted, but Ty didn’t need a uniform to show that––it was there in his actions, in his observant, investigative gaze. “And I do care.”

“No,” Kit whispered under his breath, his heart loud in his ears. “Not like that.”

“You said you wished you never met me.” Ty didn’t seem to hear him, saying the statement matter-of-factly, as if it was the truth.

Kit immediately blurted, “No!” He took a deep breath. “Ty, I didn’t mean it. Knowing you––it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Julian told me once that people said things they didn’t mean because of their emotions.” Ty’s eyebrows were furrowed as if Kit was a puzzle he was trying to solve. “Is that true?”

Curse Julian, Kit thought. Instead, he stammered, “I–I guess?” Ty was close to him now, so close that Kit could feel his gentle breathing on his skin, could easily reach out in front of him and comb back his hair. His heart was pounding, his breaths coming out short––how did Ty manage to look so composed? It had been so long since he was this close to the other boy, and Kit suddenly felt afraid, as if he didn’t trust his ability to control himself––

“What kind of emotions?”

Kit didn’t know if Ty was tricking him, interrogating him, or just genuinely curious, but he found that he didn’t care since the words that were trapped in him for so long came spilling out.

“At the lake, I told you that I loved you, and you didn’t react––which I feel dumb now thinking about it, because I shouldn’t have expected you to respond, but it still hurt––” Kit squeezed his eyes closed, not wanting to see Ty’s expression. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about how you said I was nothing to you, because Ty, you were everything to me, and I tried so, so hard, but damn it, you still are––”

Suddenly, he felt something against his lips, and his eyes shot open to see Ty’s face, inches away, his eyes closed and lashes fluttering. He felt his entire body burn, fire spreading through this skin, his mind screaming––Was this really happening?––and before he could register it, Ty had pulled back, a pale blush flushing his cheeks––Kit thought it was cute.

“Was that––was that okay?” Ty’s eyes were darting away from his face, his breathing heavy, and Kit struggled to fight the urge to pull him in again.

“It was,” he said breathlessly, “Perfect. You’re perfect, Ty.”

He knew it was cheesy, but the blush on Ty’s face grew stronger, and Ty seemed astonished at the claim. Kit wanted to hold him close, to reassure him that he was beautiful and absolutely amazing and extremely intelligent, too. He wanted to hold him close and never let him go. “But, if you don’t mind me asking,” Kit breathed, “Why did you do that?”

“Someone at the Scholomance told me that if you liked someone and they liked you back, then you should kiss them.” Ty looked at him worryingly, shyness creeping up his features. “Is that not what you’re supposed to do?”

Kit let out a laugh. “Only if you do it again.”

And before Kit could let in another breath, Ty had pulled him close and connected their lips once again, and this time, Kit responded, his hands immediately flying to Ty’s waist.

Ty tensed, and Kit was ready to pull back, an apology on his lips, but Ty held him where he was. “Touch me,” he said, voice low and stormy gray eyes staring intensely at Kit’s. Kit nodded, a sharp intake of breath due to the eye contact, and, a bit dazed, he drew Ty in, one hand circling his back and the other moving up his arm. Kit could feel the muscle underneath––Ty had most definitely gotten stronger since they last met––and he was reminded that despite having such a delicate, fragile, and beautiful frame, Ty was a Shadowhunter through and through, groomed to fight.

Ty’s hands began to hesitantly roam his body, and for a second Kit felt like his fifteen-year-old self again, wanting to impress Ty at the Shadow Market––except now, he was eighteen, and he wanted to impress Ty at how muscular he’s gotten, at how much his body has improved in the past three years. Kit tangled his hands in Ty’s hair, pulling him onto his lap and drawing the boy closer to him, relishing in the way Ty gasped against his mouth. They were both painfully inexperienced, but it didn’t matter––Kit was tightly grasping onto him, lips moving feverishly against his, afraid that if he let go, Ty would slip away from him forever.

Ty broke away, catching his breath. He was looking at Kit through his eyelashes, an unknown battle flickering in his eyes, his fingers dancing wildly on Kit’s shoulders. “Are you going to leave again?” He whispered, forehead resting against Kit’s.

Fire, Kit thought, throat dry at how Ty’s eyes seemed to smolder. You are playing with fire. He could feel his heart break. Aren’t you? he wanted to say, since he suspected Ty had to return to the Scholomance soon, and Kit would have to wait forever to see him again, and the thoughts in his mind were in chaos, but he knew one thing for sure, and that was he didn’t want to be separated from Ty again. He opened his mouth, ready to tell Ty so, but a high-pitched voice cut him off before he could utter a word.

“Kit-Kat!”

They immediately broke apart, Ty panickingly moving some distance away from Kit, and Kit turned to find Cordelia running towards him, but something in Kit noticed that her balance wasn’t that developed yet, and as if on instinct, he rapidly turned back onto the rooftop, arms reaching out to catch her before she could fall, and he was on his knees, hugging her close to his chest, trying to catch his breath––he was vaguely aware that he should chastise her for running so carelessly, but the relief in his body was so overwhelming, and Cordelia was starting to cry anyway, so he kept repeating to her that she was safe, she was safe.

Kit felt Ty kneel next to him, and he extended a closed hand out to Cordelia, whose crying had now stopped, replaced by gentle sniffs. She took his hand, small fingers still stained with blue paint, and Ty opened it to reveal a piece of chocolate in its wrapper. Cordelia squealed.

“You know, she's not supposed to have chocolate,” Kit said, voice surprisingly calm given the number of things that had just happened, the number of thoughts and emotions colliding in his head.

Ty looked at him and smiled––really smiled. “You’re never too young for chocolate.”

Kit reciprocated the smile, and it hit him with a pang how much it felt like old times. Kit turned away to face Cordelia, clicking his tongue. “DeeDee, I know you’re ready to be a Shadowhunter and all, but you can’t fall off rooftops just yet. You still got a decade to go, buddy.”

“Sorry,” she said, sounding more like “sowwy” since she couldn’t fully pronounce R’s yet. Either way, it didn’t really sound like she was since she did get some chocolate out of it.

“See, told you the chocolate was a bad idea,” Kit said, shaking his head.

Ty just shrugged. “One piece of chocolate never hurt anyone. Her name is Cordelia, right?”

“Yeah,” Kit ruffled her hair, which earned him a little “Hey!”. “I call her DeeDee. She always manages to find herself in trouble.” Kit remembered the fiasco with the Christmas lights that happened just yesterday, and he smiled. “This is no different.”

Kit could see that Ty was still smiling––if it was even possible, it made him more beautiful.

“I like him, Kit-Kat,” Cordelia said, licking the chocolate from her fingers. Kit felt a surge of pride in him. It was important to have the little sister’s approval, he thought. Not that Ty was his boyfriend or anything.

Was he?

“Thank you, DeeDee,” Ty said, turning to Kit. “I see she calls you Kit-Kat,” he inquired jokingly.

Kit rolled his eyes. “It’s so frustrating! She saw the candy at the grocery store and wouldn’t stop calling me it since. Jem thought it was because she wanted the chocolate bar, so he bought an entire pack for her––and she was extremely excited about that, but it turns out it was just her new nickname for me.”

Ty laughed––Kit let the sound fill his ears and wondered if Ty smiled and laughed more often now, or if those were just reserved for him. He wanted to know how his life was at the Scholomance, if he had discovered any cool things or found new animals, but as he opened his mouth to ask, voices drifted up from the entrance.

Kit’s eyes widened, but Cordelia beat him to it. “Mama! Papa!” She got up, but Kit made sure to grab her hand this time as they stood.

“They are back,” Ty said, straightening, and Kit noticed how Ty was now a head taller than him––he had to tilt his head up to see the other boy’s face. Kit could feel his heart beat faster because of the fact.

“Right,” he said, composing himself. “You should go say hello to Emma and Julian.”

“Are you not coming?”

“I need a moment,” Kit said, and he saw Ty’s eyes flicker behind him, understanding flashing on his face. Kit kneeled down so he was eye-level with Cordelia. “Follow Ty, okay? Don’t get lost. I don’t know if I even want to know how you managed to find your way up here in the first place.”

“Dru showed me!” She exclaimed. Kit blinked. Dru? But before he could inquire more, Ty had grabbed her hand––she made no protest to this, which was rare, since Cordelia didn’t let anyone touch her that easily––and they both went back inside, the door shutting softly behind them.

Kit let out a long exhale, then turned to where Livvy’s ghost was perched in the shadows. “Livvy,” he breathed. “Long time no see.”

“Herondale.” Livvy smiled, the light not quite reaching her Blackthorn-green eyes, her brown hair laid out behind her, contrasted against the white of her dress––the way it was at her funeral, Kit remembered. Her necklace shone. “I see you have progressed a lot.”

Kit frowned. That was a strange way of putting it. “Yeah, I guess. Tessa and Jem aren’t exactly the most lenient of trainers.”

“But not with your magic.” Livvy drifted closer to him. "It is not enough.”

“Yeah, I still can't manage to control it yet––wait, what do you mean 'not enough?'"

There was a small frown on her lips, a crease between her eyebrows. It had been so long since Kit last saw her as a ghost, he had forgotten how despite looking the same, she carried a different demeanor around her––one more cold and sorrowful. “I fear the repercussion of what happened three years ago is finally taking effect.” She looked at his face, worry evident in her eyes. “I cannot find it in my heart to tell Ty, but now that you are back––take care of him. Do not run as you did before. He needs you now more than ever.”

“What do you mean? What’s going to happen?” Kit stumbled towards her. “Livvy!” He exclaimed just as she vanished, and the view of the Pacific encompassed his vision instead. He cursed.

The sun was already low in the sky, and Kit was mildly aware that he should return inside before Tessa got worried, but he was suddenly thrown back to the first few months in Devon, where he would find himself always attracted to the beach, dreaming of the Los Angeles shore.

It suddenly hit him that he was back, back in the city where he grew up in, where his entire life had changed––he loved living in Devon and in the comfort of his little family, but as he turned around and walked towards the door leading back into the Institute, Kit realized one thing:

Los Angeles would always be his home. And he was glad to be back.

#kit and ty #kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kitty #fanfiction #qoaad #qoaad spoilers #queen of air and darkness #the dark artifices #tda #the wicked powers #twp #kit x ty #tsc #fluff and angst #a new life #reunion

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